Half-Baked Hermiones
by MykEsprit
Summary: A collection of drabbles featuring our favorite heroine!
1. Half-Baked Hermiones

**Half-Baked Hermiones**

A collection of Hermione-centric drabbles. If you see anything you like expanded into a longer work, please let me know in the Reviews section!

This entire work will be listed as rated M just in case, but I will rate each entry accordingly.

 **As a "Thank You," I dedicate some of these drabbles to Reviewers/Commenters who follow, review, and support me through the majority of my work!**

These dedications are in no particular order. If you regularly review my fics or have given me thoughtful reviews, I already have you in mind for a drabble. I'm just waiting for the right plunny that I think you might like or that has inspired me based on your reviews or our interactions!

* * *

 **Hermione/Harry:**

2\. Behind the Scenes of "Horcrux: The Musical"

7\. Reverse the Curse

10\. Origins

13\. The Dark Artifact

14\. A Stalwart Heart

18\. Homeboi

* * *

 **Hermione/Draco:**

3\. Perfect

4\. Do I Know You? - Please check out "Cross Words" for the expanded story!

6\. Crazy, Cat, Lady

11\. Just Like Before

12\. The Resort

15\. Stakeout

16\. Memento

19\. The Law of Attraction

20\. Holiday Cheer

* * *

 **Hermione/Tom:**

23\. Blue Phoenix

* * *

 **Hermione/Neville:**

9\. Excerpt from "GROW"

* * *

 **Hermione/Remus:**

22\. Something Old

* * *

 **Hermione/Multi:**

5\. Finding Time for Eduardo

* * *

 **Hermione/Loki:**

8\. Champion

* * *

 **Hermione/Luna:**

17\. Date Night

* * *

 **Other:**

21\. Her Reflection


	2. Behind the Scenes of Horcrux (Harmony)

Pairing: Hermione/Harry

Genre(s): Humor/Romance

Rated: T

Behind the Scenes of "Horcrux: The Musical"

The raven-haired young man sat next to the dejected-looking young woman on the worn cot. He put a comforting arm around her, and she laid her head on his shoulder.

"What are we going to do, Harry?" she cried softly. "It's just the two of us now. How are we going to hunt down all the Horcruxes by ourselves?"

Harry turned his head and grazed his lips against the top of her hair. "You're the brightest witch in the world, Hermione. If anyone can help me find and destroy all the Horcruxes, it's you. We don't need anyone else."

Hermione raised her head and smiled at him shyly. "Do you really believe that?"

He ran his fingers through her brown curls and cupped the back of her head. "I only ever needed _you_ , Hermione."

He slowly angled his head toward her, and she deliberately leaned in toward him.

"Cut!" yelled a shrill voice in the dark, beyond the glare of the bright lights. "Cut, cut, cut!"

Harsh whispering echoed through the wide auditorium, and then someone yelled out, "House lights up, please!"

The chandelier lights turned on, illuminating the entire theater. Ten rows deep, a bushy-haired woman was standing up and bracing herself against the red seat in front of her, glaring at a reedy man in a black turtleneck shirt standing in the aisle.

Two young men sat on either side of her, one whose face was twisted in a disgusted grimace, and the other whose jaw looked to be unhinged.

"What," the woman said, her voice still stuck in her upper register, "in the bloody hell was _that_?!"

The man in the turtleneck shrugged one shoulder nonchalantly. "I've directed the actors to follow the natural tension of the scene."

She rifled through the thick manuscript clutched in her hands. "Who wrote this bloody rubbish?" she muttered.

On the third page of the script, she saw the name of the culprit. "'Stage play based on _Harry Potter: A Completely and Fully Authorized Biography, I Promise_ , by Rita Skeeter,'" she snarled. "You do realize that this fraud doesn't know the definition of the word 'authorized?' Nor the word, 'promise?'"

She tossed the offending item over her shoulder. It landed on top of her red-haired friend's head, knocking the grimace off his face.

"This is why we asked you to be here," the director responded, looking like he would have tossed the end of his scarf over his shoulder, had he thought to wear one that day. "We have a beautifully-written script, but we brought you in to consult. To give authenticity to our play."

"Thank _bloody_ Merlin we're here, then!" she shrieked, waving her arms toward the stage, where the two actors sat in silence. "This is absolutely – it's so – how –"

"Disgusting," helped her red-haired friend. The dark-haired man two seats from him cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck self-consciously. "I mean, Hermione and Harry are basically siblings. They would never – _yech_ –"

His whole body shuddered at the disturbing thought.

"Right," agreed Hermione, though in a much quieter tone. Her already-pink face turned a shade darker. "It's, uh, disgusting."

"So gross," Harry mumbled softly.

Their eyes briefly met. Hermione quickly looked away to glare at the stage while Harry found something extremely interesting on the ceiling of the theater.


	3. Perfect (Dramione)

Pairing: Hermione/Draco

Genre(s): Romance

Rated: T

*If you missed my note on the first page:

As a "Thank You" for making my first month writing fanfiction such a positive experience, I've decided to dedicate some of these drabbles to Reviewers/Commenters who have followed/reviewed many of the works I've posted and/or have sent me supportive words.

These dedications are in no particular order. If you regularly review my work or have given me thoughtful reviews, I already have you in mind for a drabble. I'm just waiting for the right prompt that I think you might like or that has inspired me based on your reviews or our interactions!

This drabble is dedicated to the first reviewer of this collection, **ForsakenKalika** : for your kind, supportive words!

 **Perfect**

He leaned against the doorframe, unseen, and watched as she stared glumly at herself in the long mirror.

She had just come out of the bathroom, fresh from the shower and swathed in a white terry-cloth towel. She unpinned it from under her arms and unwrapped it from her body, glaring at her reflection with a critical eye.

She turned to the side, scowling at the still-obvious swelling of her lower abdomen. She faced the front again and pinched at the skin around her waist, which had yet to regain elasticity after being stretched for so many months.

She was frowning at the linea nigra that bisected her abdomen when she noticed him in the reflection of the mirror.

He smirked at her expression – which was colored both with guilt at her seeming vanity and embarrassment at being caught caring about it – as he approached her from behind.

He slowly took the towel from her and tossed it on the bed a few feet away.

He kept his eyes on hers in the mirror as he ran his hands lovingly over the features that she had been harshly judging. He gently caressed his palms over her too-swollen, blue-veined breasts. He reverently traced the stretch marks that had appeared on the skin of her belly. He captured her soft, widened hips.

Then he wrapped his arms firmly around the small of her waist, which was now a few inches higher on her torso than it had been in her youth. He turned his head slightly and planted a kiss on her temple.

"You're perfect," he said to her, and a bright blush crept from the base of her neck to her cheekbones.

"Careful, Draco," she said, as a teasing smile grew on her lips. "Unless you want another baby right away, I suggest you dial down the charm a few notches."

He couldn't help the glimmer of excitement that bloomed in his chest, as he thought of another beautiful, blond-haired, honey-eyed angel to join their most recent addition. "Would you really like to have another baby sometime?" he asked, not bothering to hide the hope in his voice.

She laid her arms on top of his and leaned back against his body. "Let's get this one out of his nappies first," she said. "And then, we'll talk."

 **A/N: Want me to expand this story? Let me know in a review!**


	4. Do I Know You? (Dramione)

Disclaimer: The Harry Potter universe and all its lovely characters are not mine.

Pairing: Hermione/Draco

Genre(s): Romance

Rated: T

*If you missed my note on the first page:

As a "Thank You" for making my first month writing fanfiction such a positive experience, I've decided to dedicate some of these drabbles to Reviewers/Commenters who have followed/reviewed many of the works I've posted and/or have sent me supportive words.

These dedications are in no particular order. If you regularly review my work or have given me thoughtful reviews, I already have you in mind for a drabble. I'm just waiting for the right prompt that I think you might like or that has inspired me based on your reviews or our interactions!

This drabble is dedicated to **SeleneBlackburn** : a snippet of Dramione, for you!

 **Do I Know You?**

Sunlight reflected off the window pane of Rhett's Coffee Shop, momentarily blinding him as he walked up to the door. Pain briefly lanced through his eyes and further muddled his mind, which was still recovering from last night's party binge; this was not what he needed this morning.

What he did need were two pots of dark roast coffee, preferably intravenously, but a cheap paper cup should do the trick in a pinch.

He opened the door and felt the universe spit in his face, again. The line to the register was twelve customers deep, and there were only two baristas behind the counter.

If he was going to make it to his meeting on time, he should probably just leave now. He was about to turn around and head back out when he inhaled that smoky, rich aroma of Arabica coffee beans.

Fuck it.

It's not like they could hold a meeting with Malfoy Enterprises without Draco Malfoy, could they?

He stood at the end of the line. Five minutes later, he still hadn't moved, and he was now tapping his feet in a quick, impatient rhythm and running his fingers through his hair in frustration.

He blew out a loud, prolonged sigh and looked around the coffee shop; anything to distract himself from his growing infuriation.

As he swept his gaze over the room, his attention landed on a petite woman standing near the claiming area. Her hair was a walnut brown, and it fell to her shoulders in large ringlets. She wore a grey pencil skirt with a burgundy button-up, and something about the combination of the curls and the red color triggered something in the back of his mind.

A memory, maybe.

He hadn't even consciously decided to approach her, but he found his legs leaving his spot in the inert line.

"Excuse me, miss?" he asked, as he sidled up next to her.

She turned to face him, and the timid smile that had been forming on her lips fell into a surprised 'O.' Her eyes, in the same shade of brown as her hair, were wide with shock.

She knew him; it was obvious. He peered at her closer, trying to remember where he had met her before.

"Do I know you?" he asked her.

"No," she said, too quickly.

Even her voice sounded familiar to his ears, and he tried to place her in different locales.

Was it in Paris last season, during fashion week? He surreptitiously glanced over her clothes – off-the-rack, from the look of the fit. So, probably not fashion-related.

What about last summer, at the beach, in Saint-Tropez? He glanced at her pale visage; he decided that her skin likely hasn't been exposed to much sunlight for quite a long time.

Then a picture of the Scottish Highlands flashed in his mind. He tried to imagine her there, her face softer and more rounded with youth, her brown curls flying haphazardly in the wind.

"Hermione?" he asked, with a degree of uncertainty. "Hermione Granger?"

She shook her head and peeped out, "No."

He eyed her skeptically.

"Are you sure?"

"Of course."

He decided to play along. "I'm so sorry, I thought you were someone I knew from school."

"That's all right," she said, with a shrug. "I just have one of those faces, you know?"

Draco smiled at her generously. "I don't know about that. Now that I think about it, you couldn't possibly be who I thought you were."

"Oh?" she asked, curiosity obvious in her tone.

He nodded. "I haven't seen her for about twelve years now," he said, and leaned in conspiratorially. "And from what I remember about her, she probably didn't age well."

"Really?" she asked, pursing her lips.

The smile on his face grew wider. "Yeah. She was one of those people always sequestered indoors, buried under a book. Never moved from her spot in the library, not even for meals or hot showers."

She scoffs. "I very much doubt that," she said stiffly.

"She probably looks like an old hag by now," he said through the side of his mouth.

She huffed irritably, in response.

Draco could barely contain his laughter at her stubborn insistence at this farce.

"I apologize, how rude of me not to introduce myself," he said. He offered his hand out to her. "My name is Draco Malfoy."

She took his hand tentatively. "Bar—Barbara."

"Barbarbara?" he asked, feigning confusion as he shook her hand.

"Yes," she said flatly. "It's a family name."

They stood with their hands still clasped, neither backing down from the handshake of wills.

The stakes were raised even higher when the barista called out, "I've got a large macchiato for Hermione!"

Draco arched an eyebrow at her in challenge. She nudged her chin a bit higher.

"Hermione! Large macchiato!" the barista yelled again.

She squeezed his hand a bit tighter. His smirk grew even broader.

"HERMIONE!" the overworked barista shouted.

"Well, I've got to go," she said hurriedly and turned to rush out of the coffee shop.

"Wait," he called out after her. "Didn't you come in here for some coffee?"

"No!" she yelled over her shoulder.

"So, what on earth did you come into the coffee shop for?" he jeered.

"For the atmosphere!" she shouted, as she yanked open the door and sped outside.

He chuckled as he watched her cross the street and hustle out of sight.

Draco slowly made his way to the bar, to the disgruntled barista still holding the paper cup in her hand.

"Sorry about that," he said. "My friend _Hermione_ had a sudden emergency. I'll take that for her."

The barista waved a careless hand and let him have the coffee. "It's not the first time she's run out like that. She must have a busy job. But, she always comes here every morning, and she's a good tipper, so…" She shrugged indifferently.

"She comes here _every_ morning?" he asked, as he looked out the window with a mischievous smile on his face. He took a sip of her hot macchiato. "Perfect."

 **A/N: Want me to expand this story? Let me know in a review!**


	5. Finding Time for Eduardo (Multi)

Disclaimer: The Harry Potter universe and all its lovely characters are not mine.

Pairing: Hermione/Multi (Kind of)

Genre(s): (?)

Rated: T

 **Finding Time for Eduardo**

The offices were still empty, and the corridors – usually bustling with heavy foot traffic – were as silent as the references section of a library in the middle of July. All was quiet at the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. After all, only she would be there at six in the morning.

It was Hermione's sanctuary, her favorite place to go to escape the flurry of activity at home.

She lounged on the brown, leather couch in her office and opened her worn, dog-eared copy of _Bite Me Thrice_ , a vampire novel that she liked to dive into whenever she needed a little romance in her life.

Hermione was able to read for ten glorious minutes before the first owl from home arrived. It tapped incessantly on her window, so she got up to receive the urgent note: _Have you seen my new Auror robe? The one with the gray lining? Can't find it anywhere._ _-Harry_

She answered the missive ( _Did you check the back of your closet?_ ) and sent the owl on his way.

She moved to lie back down on the couch, but the fireplace next to her desk suddenly chimed. She sighed and went over to kneel in front of the green fire.

"What is it?" she asked irritably.

"Good morning to you, too," said Draco's floating head.

"What do you need, Draco?"

"We're out of coffee, Granger," he complained.

"And?" she countered.

"And, I need coffee?" he said.

"Okay," she said. "So, go out and get some."

She stood up and closed the grate in front of the fireplace.

Hermione went back to reading and was just at the part of Eduardo's monologue on how sinfully delicious he found Maria to be, when another owl arrived and grabbed her attention. She let the owl inside, and she took three rolled parchments from his legs.

One read: _Can you stop by the store on your way home and grab some milk? We're fresh out. -Theo P.S., And coffee! - Draco_

Another: _Is it ok if Dean and I go to the pub after work? We'll be home in time for supper. Your turn to cook tonight, right? – Seamus_

And the third one said: _It's not there. -Harry_

She sighed, replied, and sent the poor owl back home once again. When she tried to settle back down, she heard movement out in the hallway; the workday had officially started. She reluctantly tucked the book in her purse and started writing up her reports.

ooOOoo

Hermione arrived home, her arms full of coffee beans, milk, and enough steak and potatoes to feed seven people.

The television was on, and Draco and Theo sat close to the screen, playing _Call of Duty_. Dean and Seamus had brought the game consoles to the house when they moved in, and the two Pureblood men were instantly hooked.

"Little help?" she asked.

"Sure, Granger – let me – just – clear this – area…" said Draco, without taking his eyes off the game.

"Yeah," said Theo, without looking over to her, either. "Almost – done –"

Hermione rolled her eyes and headed to the kitchen. She started putting things away and prepped the food for cooking. Ten minutes later, the two young men showed up in the doorway.

"Too late," she said briskly.

They had the grace to look embarrassed.

"Sorry, Granger," Draco said. "Here, let us help you with that."

He and Theo both tried to help her with the potatoes, but after learning her lesson several months ago and almost losing the entire kitchen in a blazing oil fire – courtesy of Draco – she shooed them away.

ooOOoo

Dinner was as raucous as always, with five ravenous men to feed. It should have been six, but Neville had forgotten to Owl her saying that he would be stuck at work.

"Sorry, Hermione," he said over the Floo call, an hour after dinner was done. "I lost track of time while I was repotting the Mandrakes."

Hermione shrugged. "It's okay, Neville. I know this time of the school year is busy for you."

"Yeah, about that," he said, apologetically. "I know it's supposed to be my turn tonight, but I've got a ton of papers to grade, so I was thinking of just staying on at Hogwarts. Is that all right?"

She gave him a small smile. "Of course."

"I'll make it up to you, I promise," he said sweetly.

After a few more pleasantries, they ended their call.

She left her study and snuck through the living room, where the rest of her Ministry-assigned husbands were busy shooting Nazis on the PlayStation. She quietly went to the hallway closet and took something from her purse.

She hurried to her bedroom and closed the door, muffling the boisterous sounds of her gaming husbands. The boys were usually respectful of her personal space, but she locked the door, anyway, in case one of them came looking for help to find a pair of socks or some other easily solved problem.

She sat on the bed, with her rescued book in her hand, and she eagerly opened it to the last page she had read.

Eduardo was waiting.

 **A/N: So, there's my take on the Harem Trope! A smutless and unsexy harem!Hermione drabble. Inspired by an episode of** _ **Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt**_ **.**

 **I'm not going to expand this, because writing this made me a little sad, to tell you the truth, which is why I didn't dedicate it to anyone, either. But I'm slogging my way through Hermione tropes, so I thought I would just get this out of the way. :)**


	6. Crazy, Cat, Lady (Dramione)

Disclaimer: The Harry Potter universe and all its lovely characters are not mine.

Pairing: Hermione/Draco (*Ok, I'm cheating on this one, since Hermione doesn't really make an appearance, but it would be a Dramione, if expanded)

Genre(s): Friendship (and Romance, if expanded)

Rated: T

*If you missed my note on the first page:

As a "Thank You" for making my first month writing fanfiction such a positive experience, I've decided to dedicate some of these drabbles to Reviewers/Commenters who have followed/reviewed many of the works I've posted and/or have sent me supportive words.

These dedications are in no particular order. If you regularly review my work or have given me thoughtful reviews, I already have you in mind for a drabble. I'm just waiting for the right prompt that I think you might like or that has inspired me based on your reviews or our interactions!

This drabble is dedicated to **lun27** : a little Crookshanks love, for you!

 **Crazy, Cat, Lady**

The boy's frenzied footfalls echoed through the seventh-floor corridor, the only sounds to be heard in that part of the castle so close to midnight. He once again paced in front of a blank stone wall, from which – after a few more strides – emerged an intricate set of double doors.

Predictably, the boy peered down the hallway, making sure no teacher nor student spied him, before slipping into the room.

And, as usual, Crookshanks snuck behind him, before the heavy doors closed with a soft thud.

This had quickly become his favorite pastime, and he didn't want to miss the show.

Prior to this, he was content with roaming the castle grounds, hunting rodents and other small animals. He would wrangle and kill them and leave their bloody carcasses in the boys' dormitory for his least favorite human, the one with the red hair and brown dots on his face.

Dot Face often yelled at his Lady, and, whenever he did, Crookshanks would be busy for the first half of the night cuddling Lady for comfort. The second half of the night would then be spent scouring the castle for the juiciest pillow decoration for his nemesis.

A few months ago, however, he happened upon the boy with the moonlight hair and the stormy eyes, and he followed him into the Room of Fun Things. Had it been any other night, Crookshanks would have gone off and played in the wonderland of boxes and gadgets and toys. But the hunch of the boy's shoulders and the stiffness of his walk intrigued him, so he shadowed the boy to where a cabinet lay hidden among mountains of rubbish.

For hours, the boy waved his wand over the tall furniture, put in and then took out whole fruits, and muttered to himself, with increasing aggravation. By the end of the night, the boy was yelling nonsensically at the offending cupboard, kicking its legs, and throwing litter at its shabby doors.

Crookshanks had sat back on his haunches and observed him with glee; he hadn't been that entertained since he ran errands for his Grim friend.

So, every night since, he stole after the crazy boy whenever he summoned the room, eager to watch his violent antics for the night.

Crookshanks settled on top of a pile of unread textbooks to view tonight's show.

Crazy tinkered with the cabinet and brandished his wand over it again and again. His voice amplified and intensified, and Crookshanks waited in keen anticipation for the inevitable blow-up.

But, on this night, he was disappointed. Rather than yelling and displaying creative forms of abuse against the inanimate object, Crazy fell to his knees and crumpled to the floor in obvious defeat.

Crookshanks was not impressed. If he wanted angst and drama, he would have stalked Lady's other friend, the moody one with the mop hair.

But it looked like Crazy wasn't going to be his unwitting source of amusement for the night, as he remained frozen on the ground in front of the imposing cabinet.

He blew out a breath through his squashed nose and got up to leave, when Crazy released a loud, wet sob. It stopped Crookshanks in his tracks; it reminded him, too much, of Lady's despondent cries, whenever Mop Hair or Dot Face would do something stupid or thoughtless or dangerous.

Another snivel and a whimper, and Crookshanks decided to help the poor boy out.

Crazy was on his shins and elbows, his fist pushed into the ground and his forehead pressed firmly against them. Crookshanks ambled up to his prone form and rubbed his flank on the side of his face, a move which usually stopped Lady's tears.

He felt Crazy jump at the brush of his ginger fur. Crazy flipped onto his backside, his damp eyes wide, and he discharged a high-pitched squeak.

Crookshanks hopped on the boy's lap and kneaded his paws into the boy's belly, which undulated frantically. He turned and pressed the side of his body firmly against Crazy's chest.

The leg muscles underneath him tensed, and Crookshanks readied himself to be lodged off, as Mop Hair or Dot Face would have done if he pounced on them, unsolicited. To his great surprise, the limbs slowly relaxed; to his even greater amazement, a hesitant hand flattened on top of his head and gently rubbed his ears.

Crookshanks folded his legs under him and pushed harder against Crazy's hand, encouraging him to continue.

Soon, he sensed the boy had forgotten all about his tears. Crookshanks urged him to pay closer attention to the spot behind his left ear.

It was the least the boy could do, after all, if he wasn't going to be violently thrashing the cabinet tonight for this bored cat's amusement.

 **A/N: Want me to expand this story? Let me know in a review!**


	7. Reverse the Curse (Harmony)

Disclaimer: The Harry Potter universe and all its lovely characters are not mine.

Pairing: Hermione/Draco (or Hermione/Harry; it could go either way)

Genre(s): Romance

Rated: M

*If you missed my note on the first page:

As a "Thank You" for making my first month writing fanfiction such a positive experience, I've decided to dedicate some of these drabbles to Reviewers/Commenters who have followed/reviewed many of the works I've posted and/or have sent me supportive words.

These dedications are in no particular order. If you regularly review my work or have given me thoughtful reviews, I already have you in mind for a drabble. I'm just waiting for the right prompt that I think you might like or that has inspired me based on your reviews or our interactions!

This drabble is dedicated to **mega700201** : thank _you_ for always stopping by and reading my stories!

 **Reverse the Curse**

Hermione felt the heat crawl up her neck as she flushed with embarrassment.

There she sat, on top of the Gryffindor table, her legs crossed, and a high-heeled foot planted on the bench. The other foot rubbed suggestively over Harry's arm, who looked like he was heroically trying to keep his eyes off her exposed cleavage, currently at eye-level. Ron sat on her other side, his face the portrayal of displeasure, though it remained unclear whether it was due to her strangely inappropriate behavior or because she blocked his access to the tray of waffles.

Hermione huffed in annoyance and stomped over to the spectacle in the middle of the Great Hall.

"See anything you like, Harry?" the girl asked, with a suggestive arch of a recently shaped eyebrow. "Aren't you hungry?"

"I know I am," said Ron, flatly. He tried to reach around his friend to get to his breakfast, but she swatted him out of the way.

Hermione cleared her throat, and the three of them turned to look at her with surprise. "Excuse me," she said. "Er – _Granger_ – but may I speak to you for a moment?"

"What do you want, Parkinson?" she asked, flipping her long brown curls off her shoulder. "Can't you see I'm busy?" A predatory smile grew on her face, and she placed an allusive hand on Harry's shoulder, which visibly jerked under her touch.

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "I was hoping you could help me with my Potions homework. I'm a renowned idiot, you see, a moron of epic proportions –"

"All right, let's talk!" she said, and she grabbed Hermione's arm and led her to the exit. She hissed in Hermione's ear, "What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

"What am _I_ doing?" Hermione asked. "What the hell was _that_?" She yanked her arm out of the small girl's strong grasp and gestured to the table, where Ron was happily piling his plate while Harry stared into space, utterly confused.

They walked into the hallway and stepped into a nearby alcove.

"That," Pansy said, "was me lighting a fire under your ass. Have you figured out how to reverse this curse yet?"

Hermione took a deep breath and held it, waiting for the violent rage to pass. It took a few moments.

Finally, she said, "Obviously, not. Or I wouldn't have just witnessed myself propositioning one of my oldest friends at the breakfast table!"

"Well, you need to fix this, Granger, and fast," said Pansy. She adjusted her collar to reveal more of her caramel skin. "The longer this curse keeps me in this body, the more comfortable I feel in it. I'm sure Potter will find it to his liking, too."

"Please don't talk as if this curse is _my_ fault," she said. "And don't you _dare_ do anything with Harry in _my_ body!"

"Then you better get a move on," Pansy sneered. "You know, Potter's actually good-looking when you get up close. Pretty eyes. Too bad they're always hidden behind those awful glasses and that duster he calls hair."

Hermione bit her knuckle to keep her aggravated scream from echoing down the hall.

"Relax, Granger," she said. "While I'm busy with Potter, you're more than welcome to partake of my – standing agreement – with Draco. He's quite skilled with his tongue, and I'm not just talking about his witty repartee."

She felt heat flash into her cheeks once again. The thought of doing – _that_ – with _Malfoy_ –

Pansy smirked at her; it looked curiously frightening, on her face. "Have fun, Granger," she said. "Though not too much fun. You've got your assignment, after all."

With that, Pansy sauntered back to the Great Hall, presumably to whisper terrifying, overtly sexual things into Harry's ear.

Hermione hurried to the library to resume her research, hoping that she'll find the counter-curse before Pansy makes an offer that's too hard for the teenage boy to refuse.

 **A/N: Want me to expand this story? Let me know in a review!**


	8. Champion (LokiHermione)

**Disclaimer: The characters and setting in this story belong to Marvel Studios and JK Rowling.**

 **A/N: Written for Roll-A-Drabble Challenge (April 2018), hosted by Hermione's Haven.**

 **Prompt: Loki/Dark!Hermione, 100-1K words**

 **Champion**

Out of all the positions Loki found himself, on his knees was his least favorite – especially in front of a man who thought himself more powerful.

"— _must_ take on my champion –" said the potentate called the Grandmaster. He had been rambling for a while, his speech moseying and digressing to so many tangents that it would have been easier to navigate outer space sans map than try to follow his monologue.

It wasn't until one of the Grandmaster's sycophants cleared his throat that Loki realized he had stopped talking and was looking at him expectantly.

Loki schooled his features to polite acquiescence. "Of course," he murmured, tilting his chin down in a slight bow.

This must have been the correct response, as the Grandmaster clapped his hands together. "Wonderful! You know, normally, I would have to work harder to _convince_ someone to fight my champion, but it's so refreshing for you to volunteer right away!"

"It's an honor to take on your champion, Grandmaster," Loki said.

"It will be an honorable death," said the – woman? —to the Grandmaster's right. "A painful, drawn-out death, but an honorable one." It sounded like she was smirking at him, but Loki didn't check. He never bothered himself with lackeys.

"Your champion has defeated many?" Loki asked, trying to make his question sound like a statement, lest the Grandmaster realize he hadn't been paying attention.

The Grandmaster smiled brightly, and his eyes glowed with a tinge of mania. "She has been undefeated for a long time. She came to us when she was merely a child, and even then, she bested contenders twice her age and size.

Now that she's fully grown, she's—" he flourished a hand in the air, "—magnificent. Ruthless. Unstoppable."

"And, also, fucking insane," the woman added.

"She likes to watch her opponents beg for death," he graciously explained. "If I were you – and I'm _so_ glad I'm not – I would just start crying as soon as I step in the arena. She doesn't put her victims out of their misery until she sees actual tears, and even then, throwing in a 'Make it stop, for the love of God," probably won't hurt." He turned to the woman beside him. "Topaz? Any other advice for our friend?"

Topaz stared at him stonily. "Don't piss yourself? Or, maybe do. It might disgust her enough to just end you sooner."

Loki fought down the sneer threatening to surface. He was Jotun by birth and Asgardian by right – no matter how many people the heralded champion of this garbage world had put down, there was no way she would be a match for someone like him.

ooOOoo

The next time Loki found himself on his knees, it was in front of her.

They had been battling for – he lost track of how long. He had been rolled around in the dirt, chucked at the walls, and slammed into piles of junk that littered the arena.

And, she hadn't even laid a hand on him.

He was pretty sure he lost consciousness twice, and the increasing pressure in his head supported this theory.

Loki gripped his throbbing head with one hand, while the other fisted on the ground for support. As she approached him, he sat back on his heels, determined not to be prone at her feet.

Her wild hair swayed in the wind as she sauntered to where he stooped on the dirt, and she pinned him with her dark, tempestuous eyes. She poised her arms at her sides, her fingers flexed like a dancer's or a musician's. Even through the haze of pain, Loki appreciated her artistry in magic. If only she wasn't currently using it to pulverize him so effectively.

She smiled at him – bared her teeth at him – as she bent down until their noses were nearly touching.

"Had enough, Asgardian?" she taunted. Blood trickled from the corner of her lip from when he feigned an injury, only to throw a massive beam at her head. A bump jutted from her right cheekbone, a token from when he buried her under a mountain of debris – a finishing move, he thought, until she burst out of the wreckage.

"Is that all you've got, bitch?" He spat on her face.

Her eyes flattened dangerously. "The name's Granger," she said. "You should learn the name of the _bitch_ about to take your life. It's only polite."

Granger pushed her palm to his chest. He felt the magic dance on her fingertips. The small hairs on his body stood to attention, as if too close to a downed, live wire.

Her position left her center open; Loki didn't hesitate. He summoned his dagger in his hand, and he swung his arm up. The blade slid into her abdomen with a squelch.

Her bloodied lips hung open. Then, they formed the word, " _Crucio_ ," and the electricity that flirted with his skin now surged deep into his muscles, making them clench uncontrollably. It froze his diaphragm, and his lungs burned with the need for air.

When her magic wouldn't relent, and his brain refused to work without oxygen, he slumped to the ground. As his vision faded to black, he saw Granger fall next to him, her eyes glazing over as blood gushed from her belly where his dagger was still embedded.

ooOOoo

The Grandmaster sat in his viewing box, his chin perched on the heel of his hand as Topaz examined the bodies on the ground.

She looked up at him and threw up her arms in an exaggerated shrug.

So, his champion and her contender were both still alive. How disappointing.

He waved his hand carelessly, indicating for the fighters to be taken away to recuperate. He would let them rest for the night, give them sustenance, maybe even send a physician to tend to their wounds. He wanted them fixed up and rested.

They needed to be fit for when they try to kill each other again tomorrow.

 **A/N:** **Thanks for reading! My first ever crossover fic, and I haven't had many chances to read crossovers, so…let me know if I did it right? :) Thanks for the challenge, Hermione's Haven!**

 **As always, if you want this drabble expanded, let me know in a review!**


	9. Excerpt from GROW (Nevmione)

Disclaimer: The Harry Potter universe and all its lovely characters are not mine.

A/N: Not a drabble but an excerpt from a collaborative piece called "GROW," which was part of Hermone's Haven Roll-A-Partner18 Challenge. It won First Place for "Best Relationship Development" and Runner Up for "Best Plot Development," "Overall Favorite," and "Most Creative Use of Prompt."

I don't want to post the whole story here on FFN since I can't link up the work with the co-writer, but if you're interested in reading the whole story, please check out my AO3 page!

Here's a portion that I wrote for the piece:

Pairing: Hermione/Neville

Rating: M

Trigger Warning: Lemons ahead!

 **Excerpt from "GROW"**

"…and then, Ron and I stripped down to our skivvies and joined Cirque du Soleil," said Harry.

Hermione continued to stare out of the large window of the deli, her mind having lost track of the conversation in lieu of jumping to conclusions regarding her dodgy partner.

"Hermione," she heard Harry say.

"What?" she said, dragging her eyes across the table to meet her best friend's exasperated gaze.

"You're missing comedy gold, here," he said. "What's the matter? Something at work bothering you? Is Hitchens giving you a hard time with the draft of your werewolf rights bill? I swear, those Wizengamot members are getting more ornery with every session."

He picked up the other half of his roast beef sandwich on rye and took a large bite.

"No," she said. "Well – I mean, yes, he's been threatening to pull support for the bill – but that's not what's worrying me."

"Okay, what is it, then? Gentry being a pain in the arse again? You just give me the word, Hermione, and I'll plant incriminating evidence in his desk that will put him in Azkaban for a while. Let's see how feels being on the other side of unwanted solicitation from creepy bastards–"

"No, I'm not thinking about Caleb," she said and then asked, out of curiosity, "What would you put in Caleb's desk that would get him sent to Azkaban?"

Harry leaned toward her with an impish smile and said, in a low voice, "I could cook up a ledger that would make it look like he runs an underground Pygmy Puff fighting ring."

She laughed as he winked at her and took another mouthful of his sandwich. A dollop of mayonnaise stuck to the corner of his mouth, and she playfully threw a paper napkin at him.

"And he would just keep that in the top drawer of his desk at the Ministry, would he?" She giggled.

"You would be surprised at the secrets we men keep in our desk drawers," he said. He put the last of the sandwich in his mouth and chewed, a heroic feat considering the large portion.

"Anyway, I wasn't worrying about him. I was just thinking about Neville," she said. "I came in this morning after dropping the twins off at day school, and Neville was already at my department. Did you happen to see him?"

Harry froze mid-chew and gazed at her with a wide-eyed mien. He shook his head.

"He said that he would be in a meeting with Minerva, so he wasn't able to help me out with the kids this morning. Then, next thing I see of him, he's stepping out of my conference room," she said, unable to suppress the jealousy in her voice, "with _Elizabeth_."

Harry swallowed his food in a loud gulp. "Huh," he said. "Well, I'm sure there's nothing to worry about, Hermione. I wouldn't waste any more energy on it, if I were you."

He stood up as if in a hurry and stepped over to her side of the table. "Sorry, I've got to go. I have a large caseload today."

"Taking down a Pygmy Puff Kingpin this afternoon?" she asked, with a wry smirk.

"Nargle smuggling," he said distractedly and leaned down to peck her on the forehead before rushing out of the deli.

She wiped the stray crumbs from the messy kiss and watched out the window as Harry entered the Ministry building across the street.

ooOOoo

After Neville picked up the kids from day school, he brought them to Grimmauld Place for a quick playdate with James and Albus Potter. The twins were a few years older than the Potter brood, but they loved to play with their "cousins," who hero-worshiped the older children.

He and Ginny sat at the parlor drinking tea as the children played hide-and-seek. While clever Allie hid behind the massive curtains, Frankie generously ignored the younger boys' rather obvious locations. James crouched behind Ginny's sofa but gave himself away with his exuberant giggling. Albus, little more than a toddler, crawled underneath the coffee table with his chubby legs sticking out and tried his very best to stay quiet.

Neville shared an amused look with Ginny, who covered her mouth to stifle her laughter.

The Floo briefly came to life, and Harry stepped out of the fireplace.

"Neville!" he said. "It's a good thing you're here. I was just about to Owl you."

Harry greeted his wife, who gestured for him to not draw attention to their sons whilst they hid.

"What's going on, Harry?" Neville asked.

"I had lunch with Hermione today," Harry said, a frown forming on his face.

"Oh?"

"She told me that she caught you meeting with Elizabeth this morning."

"Ah," said Neville.

"Yes," said Harry. "She seemed upset, Nev. I think you should tell her what's going on."

"It's only for a few more days," said Neville. "After what happened last year, I want to make sure to keep things under wraps this time around."

Harry sighed. Last year, Neville had spent months planning a trip to the top ten famous libraries around the world. He thought he had been careful to keep his surprise, only to find Hermione packed and ready to go a week before he planned to reveal his present.

"Do you know if she's gone home?" Neville asked.

"I stopped by her office a few minutes before I left," said Harry, who looked at the grandfather clock next to the mantle. "She said she would be heading home right after she filed some paperwork. Should be home by now."

Neville nodded and stood up from his armchair. "I think I should see to her. Smooth things over. Is it okay if the kids stay here for another hour or so?"

"We'll feed them dinner," Ginny said. "Go, make sure Hermione is all right."

"Thanks," he said, and he pinched a bit of Floo powder to head home.

ooOOoo

No one greeted Hermione when she Flooed into the living room of their Hogsmeade cottage.

She walked through the narrow hallway, glancing at the family photos that adorned the white walls. Each one encapsulated happy moments over the last ten years of their marriage and the eight years since they've been blessed with the twins. Their facsimiles waved at her as she passed by, their expressions full of mirth and soundless laughter.

As Hermione happened upon the door to Neville's study, which was slightly ajar, she saw him standing over the mahogany desk, tying a ribbon around a square, flat box.

She nudged the door to open wider. "Neville?" she asked.

"Hermione!" He dropped the box in an open drawer and pushed it closed with his hip. He leaned casually against the desk. "I've been waiting for you to come home. Did you come through the Floo? I didn't hear you."

She walked over and curled her fingers around the handle of the top drawer. "What's in here?" she asked.

Neville shook his head, keeping his eyes somewhere over her right shoulder. "I don't – What?"  
Hermione tugged at the drawer, but he kept his hand firmly over it, keeping it in place. A playful smile slowly formed on her face.

"Is this what I think it is?" she asked.

"No idea what you're talking about, love," he said.

"My birthday's in a few days, which means," she said, pulling at the drawer, "that's my birthday present in there."

Hermione yanked the handle. The drawer hit Neville's fingers, and he pulled his hand off the desk. Hermione snatched the red, velvet box and hurriedly untied the ribbon, swatting Neville's hands away as he made to wrench it from her grasp.

She uncovered the lid and took out an extraordinary piece of jewelry: a sizeable ruby pendant, bordered with diamonds and hanging from a gold chain.

It was opulent, attention-grabbing, and dazzling – and not to her taste. However, she knew a certain blonde with a flashy sense of fashion who would love this necklace.

She held it up the light, perplexed. Then, she shifted her confused gaze to Neville.

"All right, you've found me out," he said. "That's for your birthday."

"Oh," she said, numbly.

Relief flooded her chest; she berated herself for thinking that the jewelry was meant for someone else. It was soon followed, however, with a wave of disappointment that Neville didn't discern the kind of jewelry she would have liked.

Neville unclasped the chain and brought it around her neck, fixing it in place. The heavy pendant hung low on her chest, reaching past the third button on her silk blouse.

"The chain's a tad long," she said.

He answered with a sly smile and said, "You're right. It looks a bit off."

Neville's hands went to the top of her blouse, slowly undoing the buttons to expose her flesh until the ruby pendant lay nestled between the mounds of her lace-covered breasts.

"Better," he said, but his fingers continued their slow descent until the last button had been undone. He brought his hands below the collar and slid the blouse off her shoulders. It pooled on the mahogany wood behind her.

" _Much_ better," he said.

Neville trailed a finger along the metal chain, skimming her increasingly sensitive skin as he reached the pendant. He moved the pendant aside and pressed his lips against the skin where it had lain.

She felt his hands grab the backs of her thighs. He gently picked her up and eased her onto the desk. As she leaned back, she felt his fingers maneuver with the clasp of her bra.

He slipped the straps down her arms, and his heated gaze traveled from her eyes, to her lips, then to the pendant, now snuggled between her bared breasts.

"Gods above, you're beautiful," she heard him murmur.

He picked up the stray ribbon, where she haphazardly threw it on the desk, with one hand; with the other, he clasped both of her wrists. He bound her wrists with the fabric, saying, in a rough voice, "To keep these naughty hands from giving me any more trouble."

Neville pressed her further onto the surface of the desk, pushing his stacks of herbology and potions journals to the floor. His lips caught hers in a brief kiss before they languorously made their way down her neck and to her chest. There, they tarried a bit longer, lavishing attention first on the tip of one breast and then the other.

While his lips were busy, his fingers were distracted with pushing up the hem of her grey skirt. When the bundle of fabric could hike up no more, he reached inside and curled his fingers around the sides of her matching lace knickers, pulling them down past her knees and over each ankle.

His lips left her torso, and Hermione registered the cool air where he had licked her sensitive skin. She was soon distracted by the soft thud of his knees hitting the carpet and his hands firmly grasping her bum as he positioned her on the edge of the desk.

Neville carelessly threw a leg over each of his shoulders, and her thoughts evaporated, like a drop of water on a hot pan, as he swiped his tongue over a rapid-firing bundle of nerves.

She became pure need – a need to gasp for air as her lungs hyperventilated; a need to scream as the pressure built inside her head; a need to thrash against the solid wood of the desk as her body sought release.

When her mind finally re-entered her body, she felt Neville press soft kisses on the insides of her thighs. Moments later, he got up and kissed her neck, up to her earlobe, and said, "I've got to go."

"Huh?" she asked, fighting to regain the ability for speech.

She felt him smile against her cheek. "I have to go pick up the kids from the Potters."

"Hmm," was her only reply.

Neville gave her a kiss on her cheekbone and said, "I'll come back soon with the kids and dinner for the two of us."

He walked out of the room, and a minute later, she heard the Floo roar to life.

Hermione stayed supine on the desk for a long time. She stared up at the eggshell ceiling, trying to remember her last train of thought before Neville so thoroughly distracted her.

She brought her hands up to run her fingers through her hair when the tightness around her wrists reminded her of the ribbon. She brought it up to her face and gave an experimental tug. The strong fabric hardly stretched, and it didn't have any give as she tried to jerk her wrists free.

Her wrists were pink, chafed against the unforgiving ribbon, when she heard from the living room, "Mum! Where are you?"

"Bollocks!" she said.

Hermione ran to the door – still topless and with her grey skirt bunched up to her hip bones – and slammed it shut. She hunted for her wand, a pair of scissors, or a letter opener – _anything_ to help her get out of Neville's wrist traps before she inadvertently scarred her kids for life.

 **A/N: An excerpt of a collaborative piece called "GROW," co-written by chefke!**


	10. Origins (Harmony)

**Disclaimer:** **The Harry Potter universe and all its lovely characters are not mine.**

 **A/N: Written for Roll-A-Drabble Challenge (May 2018), hosted by Hermione's Haven.**

 **Pairing: Hermione/Harry**

 **Rating: T**

 **Origins**

His lips were blue, and it made her slightly worried.

"H-H-Herm-mi-o-ne." His body shook violently as the cold crept inside their cave. His teeth chattered, and its loud echoes nearly drowned out the wailing of the snowstorm.

"Oh, Harry," she lamented. She inched closer and wrapped an arm around him. His head fell on her shoulder, and she pressed her cheek on top of his head, a vain effort to keep his body from losing more heat.

"S-s-so—" he faltered, his warm breath a welcome sensation on her chilled neck. "S-so sorry."

Hermione shook her head. "Harry, you have to stop that," she said. "What happened wasn't your fault."

He lifted his head, and his eyes burrowed into hers. Though they burned with anger, Hermione was relieved. Now, they weren't lifeless, like they had progressively become over the past several days.

"If I hadn't b-brought that device back to the department, we wouldn't be here," he said.

"If you hadn't brought it in," she countered, "then those Death Eater sympathizers would have found a way to detonate it. Then a _lot_ of innocent people would have been in our predicament."

"But, at least, _you_ wouldn't have—" He clamped his mouth shut and tore his gaze away.

Hermione rested her chin on his shoulder. "I did my job. So did you. It's our responsibility as Unspeakables to keep those Dark items out of dangerous hands."

He released a shaky sigh and turned his imploring, green eyes to her again.

"I don't regret that we did our job right," she added softly.

"What if we n-n-never find our way back?" he asked. His lips blanched as he pressed them in a thin line.

She wanted to reassure him that they would find their way home. With their wands obliterated by the explosion that sent them there, however, she was afraid that a return trip was nigh impossible.

Hermione settled for honesty.

"We're going to be fine," she said, conviction ringing true. She covered his hand with her own icy fingers. "You and I – together, we'll be fine."

Harry stared at her, eyes wide as if he had a sudden revelation. She wondered, fleetingly, what it might have been, when his gaze dropped down to her lips.

He reached up and cupped her chin with his palm, swiping the pad of his thumb over her bottom lip.

"Blue," he said, his voice rough.

She froze, and it had nothing to do with the ambient temperature.

His tongue briefly flicked over his lower lip. He started to tilt his head; suddenly, he paused. "Sounds like the storm has passed." He stood up, a bit unsteady on his legs. "I – I'll try to find some wood to restart the fire." He began stumbling out of the cave.

After his first few steps, she regained control of her muscles.

"Harry, wait!" She got to her feet and slipped off the oversized cloak.

"Don't go out there without your cloak," she said, throwing it over him and fastening it around his neck.

He curled his fingers around her trembling hands. "Are you sure you won't be too cold without it?"

"I still have mine, and I promise to stay inside," she said. "Don't be long."

Harry offered her a small smile and lightly squeezed her hands before heading out.

Hermione waited at the mouth of the cave, watching his retreating form. Although he went far, she could easily pick him out; his dark cloak was a sharp contrast against the blanket of snow and ice.

The only other figures she could make out in the vastness of the winter landscape formed a herd. The creatures looked small from this distance, though she knew them to be large mammals. Their shaggy brown fur stood out in the gray-and-white background, and their long, curved tusks jutted in the air.

 **About Eleven to Twelve Thousand Years Later**

As he walked across the Common Room on the way to the sixth year boys' dormitory, he heard a loud snort.

Hermione lounged near the crackling fire, her legs stretched over the length of the sofa and head bent over a large book.

"Something funny?" Harry asked. He gestured for her to make room. She lifted her feet up and then rested her feet on his lap when he sat down.

"Just some nonsense in this book about the origins of magic," she said. "Listen to this."

He leaned back on the sofa as she cleared her throat.

"'While the modern wand has been perfected over generations by wandmakers such as Ollivander and Gregorovitch, earlier iterations have been unearthed during archaeological excavations. The oldest wand discovered, to date, appears to have been created during the late Pleistocene epoch, colloquially known as 'The Ice Age.'

This discovery coincides with legends of the First Wizard and Witch. According to myth, this couple came upon a tribe that had been following a herd of woolly mammoths. While those early humans hunted with rudimentary weapons, the First Wizard and Witch used only short, wooden sticks, which is now believed to have been the earliest prototypes of the wand.

The couple was said to have joined the tribe, and magic passed through their lineage, along with the knowledge of how to create wands. Thus, the first magical community was born.'"

She gave him a sardonic look. "Can you believe this?" she sneered as she slammed the book closed.

"What?"

"This book is basically saying that all of magic came from these two individuals," she said, her eyes rolling heavenward. "It's complete rubbish!"

He shrugged. It was the first time he had heard the story, and it really didn't seem any more preposterous than other theories of magic's genesis.

"I guess we'll never know for sure, though, right?" he asked gently as he tickled the bottom of one foot.

She gave him a playful kick. "Oh, Harry," she said. "However magic came to be, I can promise you – it's not because of some magical Adam and Eve."

 **A/N: Thanks for reading!**

 **Challenge Prompt:**

 **Hermione/Harry pairing**

 **Use Huddling for Warmth/Time Travel Tropes**


	11. Just Like Before (Dramione)

**Disclaimer: The Harry Potter universe and all its lovely characters are not mine.**

 **A/N: Last month was much busier than I anticipated, and I feel terrible about not updating my WIPs. Here's to hoping that I have more time to write this month! I wanted to share this…it was the original story that I came up with for the HP Horrorfest 2018 (Prompt by Darventravos). Ultimately, I went with what was eventually published as "A Wand, Made of Bone." There are a few things in the original story that I liked, so I decided to just publish it here rather than let it languish in my plunny folder.**

 **Pairing: Hermione/Draco**

 **Rated: T**

 **Just Like Before**

He hasn't changed since the last time I saw him; then again, I shouldn't have expected much. It's only been three years since our last case together here in Cairo.

He wears his white-blond hair a bit shorter now, I suppose, and his skin is still only lightly touched by the sun, despite having lived here for the past decade. Those grey eyes hold the same look they often took while we were students at Hogwarts: guarded, judgmental, and a touch disdainful. He trains them on me as I approach the desk in his office.

He stands up to greet me. Although he hasn't returned to the UK since he left all those years ago, his English Pureblood manners are still firmly entrenched, and his actions almost involuntary.

"Granger," he says with a curt nod.

"Hello, Draco," I say to him, politely. "Thanks for making time to meet today. I know you must be busy this time of year."

Draco stiffly waves a hand in dismissal, then gestures for me to take a seat across from him as he sits back down. "I have one of the associate professors covering my next class. We need to hash out the details of our expedition next week. The Headmaster is getting restless."

I know this, as I was on the receiving end of a harsh scolding over the Floo just before I came to the Cairo Magical Institute, but I keep this to myself.

"We need to be in Minya by Sunday evening," he says. "From there, it's a short enough distance to Apparate to el Ashmunein and Khmun."

I pull out my leather notebook and outline our itinerary. "Will we need to hire a guide to take us through the ruins? Or is it just going to be the two of us?" I ask, hesitation likely obvious.

"I've taken the liberty of hiring my usual attendant," he says, carefully.

"Tareq?" I'm unable to keep the excitement out of my voice.

He smiles wryly. "Yes. He's looking forward to seeing you again."

I manage to restrain my delight and school my face to a polite smile. "Me, too."

Draco clears his throat and rearranges a stack of papers on his desk. "Once we're in Khmun, we'll set up camp at the edge of the ruins, and there we'll stay throughout our expedition. I hope that's fine with you."

"Of course," I reply, and I try not to be offended by the implication. "Just because I worked at Gringotts for the past few years doesn't mean that I'm suddenly spoiled for luxury. I'll be quite comfortable roughing it for a week, thank you."

He nods, and we continue to plan, making sure we'll have the proper tools and equipment for our excursion. I create a separate list for myself, enumerating all the possible wards I may encounter onsite, given the terrain and the cultural and historical milieu that Draco provides me.

As the hour draws to a close, our conversation falters. Soon, I'm standing up and getting ready to leave.

"I'll see you in a few days, Draco," I say. I turn to leave his office.

"Granger," he calls out. I stop at the door and turn back at him. The corners of his mouth are taut, caught somewhere between a grimace and a smile. I wait for him to say something, so he obliges. "It's good to see you again."

I nod and walk out of the room.

o(o)(O)(o)o

We have six boxes of calibrated magical and muggle scientific equipment to bring to the ruins – items that are too sensitive to be shrunk, and too many to be safely carried by the two of us, even by Portkey.

It is only a three hour drive to Minya, so I meet Draco outside of my hotel at two in the afternoon. He is already there when I arrive, leaning against a dusty black SUV I rented when I first returned to Cairo. After loading the equipment, I make my way to the driver's side, but his hand covers the door handle before I can reach it.

"I'll drive," he says smugly, and I can't help the stunned look that must have shown on my face. He glowers at me, as he says, sternly, "Go to the passenger's seat, Granger. I'm driving us to Minya."

I hesitantly make my way to the passenger's side, as he gets into the driver's seat. He pulls away from the curb and drives through Cairo, effortlessly maneuvering around the streets congested with vehicles and pedestrians.

I don't notice that I'm gaping at him until he slides his gaze briefly to me and smirks.

"You don't need to look _so_ surprised, Granger," he says. "Frankly, it's a bit insulting."

"How did you get so good at driving?" I ask, genuinely curious. "Last time I saw you drive, you refused to go faster than thirty miles an hour and insisted on keeping a foot on top of each pedal."

Draco snorts but doesn't say anything. After a while, a comfortable silence settles between us, and I sit back with my arms crossed, content with watching the scenery speeding by my window.

An hour must have passed before I speak again. "How will you know what it looks like?"

"Excuse me?"

"The stylus," I clarify. "Thoth's stylus, that the Headmaster wants us to retrieve. How will you know what it looks like?"

"I'm not completely sure what we'll find when we get there," he says. "According to lore, the stylus is made with a dense, white material, so probably some type of quartz, maybe even sandstone. Although, depending on the state of the temple when we get there, we may not find anything at all."

I make a non-committal noise and turn back to the outside world once again.

Draco coughs politely to get my attention. "I'm surprised that you're not more curious as to why we're getting this stylus in the first place."

I snort loudly. "Let's see, what would the Headmaster want with an artifact that's rumored to be used by the Egyptian god of knowledge? One that is supposed to be imbued with his powers?"

"Fair enough," he concedes. "I suppose it's our job to figure out the 'how' of this situation, rather than the 'why.'"

"It shouldn't be that complicated," I say, keeping my eyes out the window. "I'll get us inside the temple, you get us the artifact. Just like before."

"Right," he says, quietly. "Just like before."

For the rest of the ride, the only sounds I hear are the tires struggling on the rough road and the hum of the car engine.

o(o)(O)(o)o

Tareq is waiting for us in the small lobby of our hotel by the time we arrive. I catch a glimpse of his tall, stocky frame hovering patiently near the entrance, and, in my eagerness, I run up to greet him.

"Tareq!" I say excitedly, and he turns in my direction. The smile he gives me is warm and welcoming.

"Hermione!" he says as I stop a few feet in front of him. "It's good to see you, my friend."

"Likewise." I hear the front door open behind me as Tareq shifts his gaze over my shoulder.

"Draco." He nods in salutation.

"Hello, Tareq," says Draco. "I'm glad you're able to join us."

"As am I," he replies enthusiastically. "It's just like old times, yes?"

I feel the smile freeze on my face. Draco clears his throat and says, "How are your wife and child?"

"Wife? _Child?!_ " I screech in delight.

Tareq laughs, and his cheeks tinge red. "Yes, Hermione, you have been away for far too long. In your absence, I managed to raise a family."

I launch dozens of questions about his home life as we retrieve our luggage and equipment.

 **A/N: I hope you liked it! I had this whole story arc planned for this one beyond the one-shot for the fest, but I think I'll incorporate some of those ideas if/when I expand "A Wand, Made of Bone."**

 **Reviews/Comments/Kudos are greatly appreciated! And, please check out "A Wand, Made of Bone," I'm quite proud of my first horror fic 3 Cheers!**


	12. The Resort (Dramione)

**Disclaimer: The Harry Potter universe and all its lovely characters are owned by JK Rowling.**

 **Pairing: Hermione/Draco**

 **Rated: M**

 **A/N: Written for the Drabble Challenge (June 2018), hosted by Dramione Fanfiction Forum. The challenge: use the following words verbatim – Beach, Blanket, Bingo, "You call these bikini bottoms?"**

They were supposed to go to the fucking beach. That was what Theo had promised: a weekend of fun and frolicking in a white-sands resort, surrounded by hot women.

"Oh," his best friend explained.

Draco twitched an eyebrow, and Theo responded with an embarrassed flush.

"Er," Theo clarified, "When I said 'hot,' I meant more like…warm." His eyes dropped down to his feet as he shuffled under Draco's enraged glare. "I meant they would be, like, 'toasty.' In their sweaters. Sitting in front of the fireplace. Drinking hot cocoa."

Draco took a threatening step towards his best friend, his fists shaking at his sides.

Theo scurried back, holding up a solitary finger in defense. "Whoa, hold on! It's not my fault you thought we were going to the beach! You misheard me about the white sands," he reasoned. "I'm pretty sure I said, 'white _powder_.'" Theo gave him a sheepish smile.

Draco closed his eyes and took a deep, centering breath. It didn't work, so he took another one. And then another. He figured he needed to take the extra inhalations because the air was quite thin up here in—

" _Patagonia_ ," Draco growled. He opened his eyes and found Theo still staring at him, gauging his temper. "We're at the top of a fucking _mountain_ , calf-deep in fucking _snow_ , in the middle of fucking _July_."

Theo took a cautionary step back.

"When you came over with the Portkey, and you saw that I was dressed in _board shorts_ and a _T-shirt_ , with a _beach towel_ over my shoulder,you didn't think to _question_ _it_?!"

His best friend shrugged. "I never question anyone's fashion sense," he said solemnly. "To each, his own."

Draco snarled and reached for his wand in the left pocket of his shorts. By surprise, Theo whizzed forward and grabbed the wand before Draco could wrap his fingers around the handle. It was a testament to Theo's fear of getting his balls permanently hexed off right then and there.

"Sorry, mate," Theo said, putting the Hawthorn wood inside his jacket. "You'll get this back once you're nice and calm." His expression perked up. "Hey, you know what would help you right now? A nice cup of hot cocoa!" He grabbed Draco's arm and started pulling him toward the wooden lodge just up the slope. "I'll get you extra marshmallows!" he added in a sing-song voice.

"Nott!" He pulled back, causing both to nearly topple over in the snow. "Look at me! Don't you think it's going to be a _bit_ strange if I walk in there with in swim gear!"

Theo let go of his arm and pinched his chin with his thumb and forefinger while he evaluated Draco's outfit. He nodded. "You're right. Here, let me Transfigure something for you so you won't stand out from the Muggles in there."

Theo flourished his wand. Draco felt the towel on his shoulder become heavier. He lifted it off, finding his beach towel had been turned into a large, fluffy blanket.

"Perfect," Theo said, a self-satisfied grin on his face. Then, he sauntered away, heading in the direction of the lively lodge, while Draco gaped at his back.

ooOOoo

Draco had settled in an armchair facing the fireplace. He scooted his toes closer to the hearth, willing feeling and color to return to the tiny appendages. Theo didn't change his flip-flops to anything remotely appropriate—or, perhaps he thought that Draco was merely suffering for the sake of fashion.

Regardless, here he was now, sitting alone in the lodge while his so-called friend had abandoned him as soon they stepped over the threshold. Theo was participating in a game on the other side of the great room.

"BINGO!" Theo yelled, waving a small, cardboard square in the air. The other players smiled and laughed genially at his enthusiasm.

Draco wrapped his blanket tightly around his shoulders and sighed. At least one of them was having fun.

"Your drink, sir," said a waiter who suddenly appeared at his side. "Courtesy of the lady at the bar." He handed Draco a copper cup.

"What is it?" he asked as he peered into its contents.

The waiter gave his outfit a once-over before replying, "A bikini bottom."

"You call these bikini bottoms?" he asked, feeling amused as he took a sip. Muggles were still so strange to him, sometimes. Madam Rosmerta called these Moscow Mules.

The waiter rolled his eyes and stalked away.

Draco glanced at the bar to the woman who had sent him the drink. She had her back turned to him, so he could only see her dark brown hair, plaited and covered under a red ski cap. Her matching red sweater clung to her sides, but it was really her pert arse in those dark jeans that snagged his attention.

As though she could feel his eyes on her body, the woman turned around—and Draco nearly spilled the Moscow Mule on his lap. As eye-catching as her backside had been, it was nothing compared to her front. For there was Hermione Granger, leaning casually against the bar and giving him the sexiest, swottiest smirk he'd ever seen on anyone.

She raised a glass of red wine to her lips; his eyes followed the movement, zoning in as the red liquid lapped gently across her bottom lip. When he raised his eyes to hers once again, she dropped him a saucy wink.

Draco raised his copper mug in salute as plans began forming in his mind. It looked like a snowy getaway was exactly what he needed this summer.

 **A/N: Hope you liked it! Thanks for reading!**


	13. The Dark Artifact (Harmony)

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling.**

 **AN: Written for Harmony & Co's Birthday Drabble Challenge. **

**Pairing: Harry/Hermione**

 **Rating: T**

 **The Dark Artifact**

 **23 July 2018, 23:36**

We are in mortal peril. Someone broke into our house—mine and HG's—and planted something treacherous.

Stumbled onto the Dark Artifact (DA) when I came home from work this evening. Went to HG's study to get a book and found DA near an open window. DA is small (fits in the palm of my hand) and red (the color of danger).

Two pieces of evidence lead me to conclude that this is, in fact, a nefarious item:

HG keeps her study meticulous. No way she would forget to leave the window open, nor leave a stray item on the floor. Also, I asked her what the item was, and she very quickly said she had no idea.

I scanned the item with a battery of spells, one of which came back positive for traces of gunpowder.

Conclusion: Unsub has connections to the Muggle world and is smart enough to get through my wards undetected.

Must not tell HG until I know more—cannot stress her out due to her condition.

Will search the rest of the house for any other dangerous item.

* * *

 **24 July 2018, 00:42**

No other DA's found. Will take item to Ministry to track down source. Will create list of potential suspects who may be out to harm me.

* * *

 **24 July 2018, 18:25**

List of suspects very long. Too long. Better to start over and list people NOT out to get me.

* * *

 **24 July 2018, 18:43**

List of "Likely Innocent People" is complete and comes to a total of 86. Half are Weasleys or Weasley-adjacent. Personal note: should go out and meet new people.

* * *

 **28 July 2018, 14:18**

Tracked down Dealer of this dangerous item: a degenerate that goes by the name "Chad." Located him in Muggle London store that sells children's party supplies. Made my stomach turn that such a monster is around innocent souls.

Captured the villain and took him to the Muggle Office. Below is the transcript of his interrogation:

 _Chad: (Sitting down, hands folded on top of the table. Single lightbulb hangs down from the ceiling, swinging slowly and making shadows dance across the room.) Hey mate, I'm not sure what's going on here—_

 _HP: (Pounds fist on the metal surface of the table.) You bloody know why you're here, you dirtbag! I know you've been selling these—(throws DA on the table)—not just to innocent people, but to children (face crumples in disgust). And I thought I've looked evil in the face before—_

 _Chad: (Looks at DA.) Wait, is that why I'm here?_

 _HP: It bloody well is! Do you know what this thing is? What_ it _does?_

 _Chad: (Nods.) Sure do, mate! See, you pull this string here, and it explodes—_

 _HP: IT'S AN EXPLOSIVE DEVICE?!_

I soon delivered Chad to the Muggle authorities for selling dangerous weapons to children. Police officers congratulated me for a job well done and thanked me for my service. Heard raucous laughter behind me as I left—whole room was likely celebrating the capture of such a wicked, hardened criminal.

* * *

 **31 July 2018, 17:25**

After a week of investigation, nothing else has been unearthed. Silence has me worried. Last night, I put in extra security enchantments at home, including one to detect if anyone aside from me and HG enters the premises.

Until then, I'll keep things—

The _WHEE-WOO-WHEE-WOO_ startled Harry, jarring him from his thoughts as he wrote his log. Dread crawled under his skin as the onyx gemstone on the corner of his desk—the one connected to the security wards at Grimmauld Place—wailed.

He waved his wand over the stone, determining what he was dealing with—and felt the blood drain from his cheeks.

Over a hundred people had entered the premises.

Grimmauld Place was under siege.

The clock on the mantle read 7:28 p.m.—Hermione must be home!

"Smythe!" Harry barked as he rushed out of his office. There weren't many Aurors left at the Ministry—many had cited illness or important family plans and had already left the office—so Harry had to make do with a skeleton crew. "Richards! Carter! Gather everyone still here and tell them to suit up—there's been an attack!"

* * *

The foyer was dark when he and a dozen Aurors arrived.

At this time of night, the house was usually lit—Hermione always made the house bright and inviting—so his heart raced when darkness greeted him.

As they tiptoed down the hall, a squeak of the floorboards resounded. Harry held out a hand, silently ordering his men to halt as he discerned the source—it came from inside the parlor!

He approached the door and held up three fingers, counting the men down to synchronize their attack.

3—2—1…With a bang, Harry kicked the door open and ran into the room.

Inside, the lights turned on, blinding him—there was a large crowd, and they screamed—but he focused solely on Hermione standing in front, holding another red Dark Artifact—her hand on the white string—

"Watch out!" Harry cried, slapping the DA out of her hand. It fell on the floor; he jumped on it, covering it with his chest. "Get out of here before it explodes!"

There was no stampeding—no one yelling, "We're all gonna die!"—only a shocked, collective gasp. He looked up, finding his pregnant significant other frowning down at him.

"Harry?" Hermione asked. "What the bloody hell are you doing?"

"Wha—What do you mean?" he cried. "You're all in danger! Get out before this thing explodes!"

With a sigh, Hermione bent down—not without some effort, due to her protruding belly—and fished the DA from under his body. She pulled the string— _pop!—_ and a wad of confetti and glitter flew out and covered his body, still prone on the ground.

A wisp of smoke floated from the DA.

"Surprise," Hermione said, rolling her eyes. "Happy birthday."

 **A/N: Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it!**


	14. A Stalwart Heart (Harmony)

**Disclaimer: The Harry Potter universe and all its lovely characters are not mine.** **  
** **Pairing: Hermione/Harry** **  
** **Genre(s): Angst/Horror** **  
** **Rated: M**

 **A Stalwart Heart**

"If only I could rip out the part of me that's still in love with him," she confessed, "I'd put it out of its misery."

She held the bottle of Firewhisky, squinting at the clear glass—wasn't it full of amber liquid only moments ago? A large, freckled hand reached over and pried it out of her grasp.

"That's enough of that, I think," Ron said. He set the bottle on the table with a thud; its echoes bounced around inside her skull. "You can't keep doing this to yourself, Hermione."

Her elbows planted on the dining table. She cradled her temple with one hand. "What else can I do?" she muttered. "We said we would still be best friends after we broke up—I _promised_ —but, I don't know if I can handle it!" Her arms gave out, folding on the glass surface. Her forehead swiftly followed, thumping against the top of her hand. "It _kills_ me to see him every day—" she mumbled, "—to talk to him about pointless shit like how horrid the heat has been all summer or how so-and-so is fucking up their Ministry assignment. I hate having to sit next to him at gatherings and not be able to hold his hand or lean over to kiss him." She raised her head and fixed her gaze on her companion, whose features blurred and swam as tears flooded her vision. "I can't do it, Ron. I can't be Harry's best friend—not while there's a part of me that's still in love with him."

"Just give it time," Ron said, his normally booming voice gentle. He placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

...

" _If only I could rip out the part of me that's still in love with him," she confessed, "I'd put it out of its misery."_

She did as he suggested, gave herself time—six months' worth of pining and of little heartbreaks.

Hermione tried to bury the part of her heart that longed for her best friend; the part that sank to the pit of her stomach whenever he casually mentioned to others that he was single; the part that clawed the inside of her chest whenever he showed a passing interest in another woman.

Each time she was tested, the mask she donned in his presence peeled and cracked.

...

" _If only I could rip out the part of me that's still in love with him," she confessed, "I'd put it out of its misery."_

The first time she said it, she knew she was being absurd.

But the words turned into ideas, and the ideas turned into plans, and the plans turned into experiments, and the experiments yielded results.

And while she could admit she was an absolute fool in love, Hermione was still a _very_ bright witch.

...

" _If only I could rip out the part of me that's still in love with him," she confessed, "I'd put it out of its misery."_

Her hands were clapped on her mouth. She didn't know if she should laugh or cry or vomit.

Months of toiling with little sleep and even less nourishment had come to an end—the product of her potion stood across from her.

She wanted to separate the part of herself that was still in love with Harry Potter, and she succeeded—though, as she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, the heart that still ached for Harry throbbed under her sternum.

Terror gripped her ribcage—she knew what she would find when she opened her eyes—

Her own face, marred with misery and desperation and regret.

And her wand—pointed at her stalwart heart.

"I'm sorry this has to happen," her other half said.

"Don't do this," Hermione cried. "I'm—I'm _you_ —I'm part of you—"

"A part I no longer want," replied her doppelganger.

There was a finality to that tone.

There would be no mercy.

She closed her eyes.

...

 **A/N: Thanks for reading! Reviews are always appreciated!**

 **I've been terrible about replying to reviews lately, but please know that I read and am grateful for every single one I get! I'll make time to reply to them soon.**

 **Meanwhile, come chill with me on Tumblr!**

 **mykesprit . tumblr . com**


	15. Stakeout (Dramione)

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling.**

 **Pairing: Hermione/Draco**

 **Rating: T**

 **A/N: It's been an age since I've done dedications!**

 **This one goes out to** _ **Cecily Mitchell**_ **, who I think might like the "vibe" of this drabble! Thanks for reading and leaving reviews for so many of my fics! I really appreciate the support!**

* * *

 **Stakeout**

* * *

A shrill whistle pierced her eardrum, making her wince behind the thick novel.

"Bloody hell, Ron," she muttered, readjusting the volume on the pearl earring that had been charmed to communicate with Ron's wristband. "What was that?!"

"Sorry, Hermione," he whispered. From the shade of his voice, he was likely sporting an embarrassed flush.

"Let me guess," Neville said through the comm. "Pretty girl? Skimpy bikini?"

As she rolled her eyes, Harry's voice boomed, "Maybe it was a bad idea to send _you_ out to the beach today."

"Hey, it was _my_ turn for first pick of assignments," Ron complained. "Last time, I was stuck in a warehouse the entire operation—I always get the worst posts—"

"Oh no, you don't," said Neville. " _I'm_ the one who had to bunker down in the swamplands for two weeks. Still can't get that 'marsh' smell out of my robes."

"Will you three knock it off?" Hermione hissed. "I'm trying to concentrate."

She sat up as the ornate double doors admitted an attractive couple. A broad-shouldered man in a smart black coat sauntered down the length of the expansive lobby. A long-legged woman in a short ivory dress sashayed beside him, her red-soled heels rapping on the marble. The _click-clack_ bounced off the high-domed ceiling and echoed down the nearly empty room.

The chaise on which Hermione sat was situated near the check-in counter.

Behind the desk, a petite brunette greeted them with a cordial smile.

Hermione held up the book in her hand—a tattered copy of _Anna Karenina_. A hefty bit of holiday reading—with a more invasive purpose. As the couple provided the receptionist with their names, Hermione's patented charm went to work. She aimed the spine of the book at her targets, and the letters on page two hundred, sixty-five rearranged to spell out their personal information.

The man was Nathan Beauchamp, chief executive officer of BeauCorps. A forty-five-year-old male with two children ages six and fourteen. He had been married for sixteen years to one Tonya Beauchamp nee Lane.

Who was most definitely _not_ the young blonde clutched on his arm.

According to the scanner, her name was Angela Ayn. Occupation: nanny to the Beauchamps.

Hermione swallowed down a scoff as she set the book on her lap. Although these two certainly arrived for less-than-savory reasons, Hermione dismissed them as potential targets for their operation.

It was unlikely they were here to meet with the head of the largest drug cartel in wizarding Europe.

She covered her mouth and pretended to yawn. "No luck here so far. Just another middle-aged man on holiday with his children's nanny. How's it going on your end?"

Harry sighed. "Not much here, either. Borg's still working on her fillet. No one's approached her table except for the wait staff." The sharp clink of ice on glass reached her ears. "There's only so many times I can fake-drink this bourbon without the bartender getting suspicious."

" _You_ volunteered to stake out the bar," she chided. "You _know_ you have a shamefully low tolerance for alcohol."

"We can't all be fish like you," Harry chuckled, his voice teasing.

"I win _one_ drinking contest, and suddenly I'm the team drunkard." While she kept her gaze on her book, her ears were attuned to every sound that resonated in the lobby.

"Aw, nobody thinks that—not with Ron still part of the squad," Neville said. "Speaking of which, how's the tan coming along, mate?"

"You know, lounging on the beach is much harder than it sounds," said Ron. "Especially for someone with my complexion."

"By the end of the day, you'll just be one giant freckle," Harry quipped.

"Thanks, mate," Ron grumbled. "Also, it's not easy tailing Petrov around. The guy's as slippery as a niffler in a jewelry shop."

"Don't lose sight of him," Neville said. "Our last intel suggests Petrov may be meeting with the buyer _before_ he meets with Borg."

"Fuck," Harry muttered. "Don't tell me Petrov's going to cut Borg out of the deal. We're not equipped to deal with a full-on shoot-out between those two if this meeting goes south."

"I'll notify delta team to be on standby in case they need to mobilize sooner," said Neville.

"What about the buyer, Nev?" Hermione asked. "Any new intel on this guy? I have no bloody idea what I'm supposed to be looking for, aside from 'someone who can afford to buy fifty million Galleons worth of Philter.'" She waited as two women passed by, whining about how the wind had picked up and ruined their salon blow-outs. When they were out of earshot, Hermione continued. "Which, incidentally, _could be anyone_ in this bloody place! Have you seen the resort's clientele?"

Neville tutted. "'Fraid I can't be much help with that. There haven't been any new leads as to who this mystery buyer is. Just look for anyone suspicious, or for anything out of the ordinary."

Her eyes rolled heavenward. "Great," she mumbled. "I'll just sit here and wait for a suspect to fall in my lap—"

"Hermione?!"

Startled, her head whipped towards the front doors. A statuesque woman with high cheekbones and bright eyes was hastening to her.

"Pansy!" Hermione yelped in surprise. She jumped up and met her halfway, beneath the ornate crystal chandelier.

"Pansy?" Harry whispered in her ear. "As in 'Parkinson?' She's here?"

Hermione ignored him as Pansy's arms wrapped around her shoulders. "Bloody Merlin, it's so good to see you!" Pansy said. She pulled away but kept her grip on Hermione's upper arms. "How long has it been? Six years?"

"Seven," Hermione said, her eyes traveling to the two others who sauntered behind Pansy. "Hello," she greeted the lithe woman with straight, corn silk hair. As her gaze landed on the man who towered over all of them, she was met with a pair of mocking grey eyes. "Malfoy?"

"What?!" shouted all three men in her ear, and she schooled her features as to not give herself away.

Pansy stepped back and turned towards her companions. "Oh! Look who's here!" She nudged Hermione towards her friends and addressed the pretty blonde. "This is Hermione Granger—"

The blonde flicked her wrist, and a large diamond ring caught a ray of light. "Of course," she said. "I know who you are." She reached her hand out in greeting. "How do you do? Astoria Greengrass."

"Ah," Hermione said as she grasped Astoria's hand. "You're Daphne's sister, right?"

Astoria's lips pressed into a thin line; it was swiftly replaced by a polite smile. "Yes," she said, retracting her hand.

Hermione's gaze shifted to their male companion, who fixed her with a smirk.

"Granger," he said with a brisk nod. His grey eyes flicked over to Pansy, who still had one hand on Hermione's arm. "I didn't realize that you and Pansy were such intimate friends."

"Hermione and I attended Seabrooke together after Hogwarts." Pansy returned his smirk. "We became pretty close there."

"Law school," said Draco, his pale eyebrows lifting. "Color me impressed."

"I suppose _any_ color would be an improvement," Ron muttered in her ear. "Albino git—"

"So!" Hermione said, drowning out the rest of Ron's mutterings. She turned to Pansy. "What a stroke of luck to run into you here! Are you all on holiday?"

Pansy shook her head. "Business," she replied. "Astoria's here to meet with a potential business partner, and I'm here to offer my legal services." She gave Hermione a knowing smile. "I know. A Parkinson in corporate law—how banal."

Hermione brushed her fingertips against the sleeve of Pansy's business robe. "You were always brilliant at it."

"Thank you," Pansy murmured. As Pansy glanced at her companions, the tops of her cheekbones turned pink.

Hermione followed her gaze. She encountered Astoria's curious expression and Draco's analyzing stare.

Pansy cleared her throat. "What about you?" she asked. "Business or pleasure?"

Hermione glanced at _Anna Karenina_ in her hand. "Pleasure."

Pansy hummed. "Are you here by yourself?" she asked, looking around the lobby.

"Erm, no—" she stammered. "Harry and Ron are here, as well."

Draco snorted. "All these years, and the Golden Trio are still together?"

"Well, you know what they say," Hermione said. "Once you take down an evil megalomaniac hell-bent on genocide together, you're friends for life."

Pansy chuckled as Draco narrowed his eyes.

"Pans?" Astoria lifted her wristwatch and arched an eyebrow; Pansy nodded in acknowledgement. Without another word, Astoria strolled off with Draco at her heels.

"Will you be staying through the weekend?" Pansy asked. "We've got to run off for a meeting, but let's do lunch or dinner sometime!" She grabbed Hermione's hand and gave it a squeeze before rushing to her friends.

As the three of them hustled away, Hermione raised her book. The distance between them grew, and she had only enough time to scan one of them before they were out of range. She trained the spine of _Anna Karenina_ on her target.

Name: Draco Lucius Malfoy.

Single; no children.

Occupation: bodyguard.

* * *

 **A/N: Thanks for reading! I hope you liked it!**

 **If you're interested in an expansion of this drabble, let me know in a review! (It might not be for a while, but if there's enough interest in this story, I'll place it higher on the list of priorities.)**

 **Also—Sept 8 is my 6-monthsary in writing! Yay! I'll be doing something fun on my Tumblr that day, so come check it out!**

 **mykesprit . tumblr . com**


	16. Memento (Dramione)

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling.

Pairing: Hermione/Draco

Trigger Warning: Adultery  
Rating: T

A/N: This one goes out to **TheLastLynx** for such lovely reviews/comments on many of my fics—and also for being an awesome human being!

A teeeeeensy bit more of the story from "The Gutter of Your Love."

* * *

 **Memento**

* * *

"Have you got your toothbrush?"

He glanced at her, his expression shuttered. "Yes," he said flatly. He leaned against an arm of the brown leather loveseat as his gaze shifted back to the balcony.

Raindrops speckled the glass sliding door, that morning's shower fading into a light sprinkle. Just below the mosaic tiles of the narrow balcony, broad palm leaves danced in the gentle breeze. White sands gleamed, framed by the dark line of trees and the blue surf.

Ignoring the veritable paradise, she focused on packing her valise. Most of her things were already sorted and lined against the wall. She wandered the room to look for the last of her personal effects—those high-heeled, red pumps scattered by the door; the black French lace bra on the plush carpet by the bed; and, of course, her purple toothbrush in a glass on the bathroom counter.

A knock on the door interrupted her, and she crossed the cozy suite to answer it.

"Good morning, madam, sir," greeted a lanky bellhop with pearly teeth. "The Portkeys have all been set. Yours are scheduled to activate in twenty minutes."

"Thank you," she murmured. She shut the door as the bellhop moved on to the next room.

There was a shuffle behind her. As she turned around, her companion bent over to gather his sparse belongings. He swung the strap of a beaten weekender bag over his shoulder and jammed his hands in his pockets.

He straightened up and asked, "Are you ready?"

With a curt nod, she secured the buckle of her valise and lifted it off the mattress. A swish and a flick later, the rest of her luggage shrank and flew to the palm of her hand. She stuffed them in her small purse.

She surveyed the room one last time for any stray items—a force of habit from all the times they had been in and out of hotel rooms. Cream sheets lay in a rumpled heap on the king-sized mattress, a thin comforter bunched around the post at the corner of the bed. The loveseat's cushions and throw pillows were haphazardly arranged. Two crystal glasses—and three empty bottles of white wine—sat on the mahogany desk.

Her nose scrunched with guilt as she examined the mess. She reached into her purse for a few Galleons, placing them on a side table as a tip for the cleaning staff.

"Let's go," she said. She reached for the brass handle, yanked the door open, and rushed out the door.

Draco Malfoy trailed after her.

* * *

Guests packed the lobby, bustling and buzzing in herds.

The few children that were present had been placed on lavish sofas surrounded by adults in muted uniforms—nannies and butlers and an assortment of personal staff. House Elves popped in, though never tarried long.

She and Draco weaved through the mass of haute couture and flashy jewelry to reach the information desk. She gave the pretty receptionist her name.

The young woman shuffled through a box, an eclectic collection of knick-knacks. She handed over a small umbrella, the kind that the resort used for their gimmicky cocktails. A tag hung from the handle with the words "Madeleine Tremblay" written in neat cursive.

"Here's your Portkey, Miss Tremblay," the receptionist said as she gave her the token.

Draco stepped up. After he supplied his own name, he was given a wooden keychain in the shape of a sandal. His fingers curled around the small memento.

"When your Portkey is ready—we've set it to buzz when it's time—please head to one of the platforms," the receptionist instructed.

They headed over to the other end of the lobby, where three circular platforms were set up. Short lines formed at the head of each dais. By groups—friends or families or a mixture of both—people climbed the platform and promptly disappeared as their _Portus_ charms worked.

She and Draco fell in line. Waves of conversation flowed around them while they waited.

She pulled out a wedding ring from her purse and slipped it on; the familiar platinum band was dense and weighty. She crammed her left hand in her pocket.

A heavy sigh reached her ears.

As the family ahead of them was whisked away by their Portkey, the paper umbrella vibrated in her palm. She peered out the corner of her eye; Draco was staring at the wooden keychain clenched in his hand, the muscles of his jaw bunched into a knot.

His silver eyes met hers. "Well—" he grated before clearing his throat.

Her mouth was parched. "Well," she rasped. She licked her dry lips.

His eyes flickered down, following the movement of her tongue, before he glanced away. He gestured towards the platform.

Her legs were unsteady as she ascended; she hoped he didn't notice. When she reached the center of the dais, she turned around and gazed down at her companion. The tiny umbrella trembled frantically in her hand.

"Hermione—" he started. His lips continued to form words, but no sound came out.

She waited, though he said no more. Then, she whispered, "Goodbye, Draco."

There was a nauseating pull at her navel—a sensation that couldn't be completely blamed on the Portkey—as she was transported out of paradise.

* * *

 **A/N: Thanks for reading! If you want to read more of these two, there's a short songfic I wrote a while ago called "The Gutter of Your Love" that I'd love for you to check out!**


	17. Date Night (LunaHermione)

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling.**

 **A/N: Written for Roll-A-Drabble (August 2018), hosted by Hermione's Haven.**

 **Prompt: Hermione/Luna, Coffeeshop**

 **Trigger Warning: Gun violence**

* * *

 **Date Night**

* * *

The sharp aroma of French roast coffee had woken Hermione up, but she didn't open her eyes until there was a faint clatter. Her eyes blinked open, and Luna was there, setting mugs of steaming black coffee and plates of hot sandwiches on the small, round table.

"Sorry," Hermione whispered, stifling a yawn as she sat up on the bench. "Must have dozed off."

"You did," said Luna, pausing to give her an encouraging smile before sitting beside her on the tattered faux leather seat, "and you really needed it."

Hermione chuckled. With the heels of her palms, she rubbed her eyes, fighting off the shreds of sleep and exhaustion threatening to overtake her.

A heavy mug scraped on the grainy wooden surface. "Here," Luna urged as she brought the mug closer.

Hermione nodded her thanks. She wrapped both hands around the container, savoring the heat on her perpetually cold fingers before bringing it to her lips. She took a potent whiff, rich and roasted and nutty. For the briefest moment, she was afraid she might still be asleep—if this was a dream, she would _truly_ go on a murder rampage—but then the hot liquid slid over her tongue. She moaned as it hit the back of her throat and slid down her esophagus, spreading warmth to her chest and stomach.

Luna planted an elbow on the table and observed her. "I love it when you do that," she declared.

Hermione's eyebrows raised.

"When you moan like that," the pretty blonde clarified, "although, it's quite strange to hear it without my tongue being directly involved." Her light, grey eyes flickered to the half-empty mug as a pensive smile grew on her face. "It's good I'm not the jealous type."

Hermione swept a few stray golden strands behind the shell of Luna's hear before leaning in to whisper, "You have nothing to fear. I'd never leave you for a cup of coffee." She pressed her lips to the soft skin just under Luna's earlobe. "Hmm…but those sandwiches, on the other hand, are _incredibly_ tempting."

"Oh!" Luna turned, her face contorted in mock-offense before capturing Hermione's lips in a teasing kiss.

Hermione combed her fingers through Luna's long locks, indulging in one more tender moment before her pragmatic side took charge once again. She sighed as she leaned back, pushing a plate of sandwiches toward Luna. "We should get a move on soon," Hermione murmured. She reached for her own plate.

They had only turned on one light—a brass pendulum fixture that hung low over their table. The rest of the room was cast in shadows, tables and chairs blending into their surroundings. Dust floated in the air, visible even in the dim light.

It wasn't exactly how she remembered it—the café had been lively when Hermione took Luna here on their first date. It was, however, in a much better condition than most of London, and for that, she was grateful.

Outside, the wind howled, and the city's residents made their usual clamor of groans and grunts. Inside, Hermione and Luna were able to eat in blessed silence.

"It'sh show good," Hermione mumbled through a mouthful of chicken and mozzarella sandwich. "I can't believe these were shtill in there!"

Luna shrugged. "All perfectly preserved in the freezer," she said. Crumbs rained down as she took a bite of her toasted ham sandwich.

Hermione straightened up. "Did you—erm, did you pack the rest of the frozen food?" When Luna nodded, Hermione nudged. "What about coffee beans? And the machine, of course?"

Luna held up Hermione's small beaded purse. "Our takeaway is packed and ready to go."

"That's my girl!" Hermione beamed. "It'll make for a nice souvenir at the Compound."

They finished the last of their food and sipped their caffeinated drinks, relishing the relative peace and quiet of this little sanctuary. Not for the first time, Hermione longed for her wand—to have the ability to hide this charming place, with its amateur paintings and permanently fragrant air and working electricity, which was now a rare commodity.

She tipped her mug back, catching the last drops of her precious drink. Luna also finished her meal; they had no more excuses to linger. Hermione stood gingerly, testing her right ankle; it was still painful but could bear weight.

Good enough.

"Are you sure you're ready?" Luna asked. She stood up, securing the beaded bag over one shoulder and a baldric over the other. Steel scraped along the scabbard as she unsheathed her sword.

Hermione nodded. She grabbed her pistols resting on the bench, the familiar weight in each hand surprisingly comfortable and comforting. With a sigh, she said, "Let's go."

They took down the makeshift barricade—tables and chairs they had leaned against the door when they first arrived.

"Thanks for taking me out on a date," Hermione said with a furtive wink.

"Happy anniversary," replied Luna.

As they shared a final glance, Hermione closed a steady hand around the handle and threw the door open.

Luna stepped outside first. A creature had been ambling past the café—how unfortunate for it. Cold steel sliced through its grey, rotting flesh. Luna pulled her sword out, kicking the still-moaning creature to the cement, careful to avoid its strong, bony grasp.

Hermione aimed her gun and fired off a single bullet, giving the undead creature its final rest.

Luna shook her head and hummed. "I hate having to kill them," she said as she stared at the decaying corpse. "But I would also hate to be eaten alive."

"Don't worry," Hermione said, scanning the dark street for any other movements. She readied her pistols as they walked around downed lampposts and abandoned cars. "We'll keep each other safe."

* * *

 **A/N: Thanks for reading this little zombie/coffeeshop AU! Sometimes I feel like my ideas are too silly and weird—but these are also the most fun to write, so I'm just gonna lean in, I guess lol! I hope you liked this one!**


	18. Homeboi (Harmony)

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling.

 **A/N: A drabble written for Harmony and Co. For Hermione's birthday!**

 **Pairing: Hermione/Harry**

 **Rating: T**

* * *

 **Homeboi**

* * *

Dear Hermione,

Guess what? It's your birthday again!

But of course you know that, brightest witch and all…Not that you would need to be genius to figure out your own birthday…

Not that you're _not_ a genius—

* * *

Happy Birthday, Hermione!

I hope you like the gift I got you! It's a pretty hair comb, isn't it? I saw it by the shop and instantly thought of you.

NOT BECAUSE I'M SAYING YOU NEED A COMB! It's one of those things—comb barrettes?—and it had an otter and otters are your Patronus and—oh gods—

* * *

Hi Hermione,

Happy birthday! Let me know what I can do to make your day special, like if you want a foot rub or a pedicure…not that you need it, you have really pretty toes. Some of my favorite memories of our time in the tent are when you would take your socks off so you can warm your toes by the fire. You would sit on the ground and wrap your arms around your legs and you would wiggle your toes in the most adorable way…

As I'm writing this, I realize how creepy that sounds coming from your best friend…

But, I do love your toes—um, platonically!—

* * *

Dude,

Here's your gift, brah. From your homeboi—

* * *

"Harry?"

He jumped, crumpling the note in his hand as he faced her. "Hermione!" he croaked. "What—erm, what are you doing here?"

Her eyes narrowed as she assessed his face, though a smile tugged at the corners of her lips. "Molly's done with dinner, so I thought I'd come and get you." She eyed the ball of paper in his hand and the pile of scrunched, half-written notes in the waste basket. "What are _you_ doing?"

Harry tossed the scrap away and rushed towards Hermione, ushering her out of his bedroom. "Nothing!" he said. "Just a list of things I need for school—"

"It's mid- _September_ ," she retorted as she dug her heels in place, "and you're _not going_ to school anymore, Harry, you're doing Auror training—"

"Oh yeah." He rubbed the back of his head abashedly. "No wonder I couldn't think of anything to buy! Oh, well, better head down, then—"

He turned and made it to the threshold before she yelled, "Hold on!"

Harry froze in place. Her feet thumped lightly on the hardwood floor. His heart fell to the pit of his stomach when he heard the crinkling of paper soon after.

Then there was silence—he because his chest was frozen in terror, and she because—well she was likely just _mortified_ that her best friend turned out to be such a bloody _creep_ , writing her these notes—

"Where is it?" Hermione asked in a gentle tone.

Air whooshed into his lungs. Slowly, he turned around. "Pardon?"

"My gift," she said. "Where is it?"

He walked towards her, holding out his palm in a silent _Accio_. A small, wooden box flew into his hand; he handed it to her.

She lifted the unadorned lid and raised the otter hair comb to the light. "Cute." She held it out for him to hold.

Hermione twisted her curls up in a low bun as she turned around. "Will you put it on for me, please?" she asked.

With her back turned, Hermione couldn't see him—which was a lucky thing, as his hand trembled while he placed the comb in her hair.

"How does it look?" Hermione glanced at him out of the corner of her eyes.

"Very pretty," Harry whispered.

"As pretty as my toes?" A teasing laughter colored her tone.

Harry took a shaky inhalation. "Just as," he said roughly.

She threw her head back, and her clear, bell-like laugh filled the room. Then, she turned and threw her arms over his shoulders, pulling him into an embrace. "Thanks for the gift," she said, pressing her soft lips against his cheek in a brief kiss, " _homeboi_."


	19. The Law of Attraction (Dramione)

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling.

 **Pairing: Draco/Hermione  
** **Genre: Romance/Comedy  
** **Rated: T**

 **A/N:** Written for Platform 9 3/4's Potions and Charms Mishaps and Accidents Competition. It got these things:

Winner: Best Comedy, Best Jaw-Dropping Moment, Best Plot Twist, Best Tie In to the Prompt, Best Dramione (Tied)  
2nd Place: Overall Favourite (Tied), Best AU, Best Fluff (Tied), Best Feels, Best Mystery, Best Creative Use, Best Male Characterisation  
3rd Place: Best Ending (Tied), Best Dark, Best Romance, Best Characterisation, Best Female Characterisation, Most Complete, Best Pairing, Admin Judges Favourite

But anyway, thanks to the judges and admins of Platform! Special thanks to mhcalamas for making a gorgeous aesthetic to go along with this short fic.

* * *

 **The Law of Attraction**

* * *

A clown ambled into the Advanced Arithmancy classroom in the middle of lecture and handed out balloon animals. Most students accepted their hand-shaped poodles and giraffes with nary a glance from their parchment—for this _was_ Hogwarts, after all, and the peculiar was merely part and parcel of their lives.

Later that afternoon, students waded through the first-floor corridors to get to class. Galleons rained down from the ceiling, filling the walkways with gold coins up to their waists. There was utter pandemonium at first as people stuffed every available pocket with loot. They quickly realized the Galleons were fake—and not only that but were made of chocolate. The rest of the day was marked with cranky moods as everyone's sugar levels crashed; though the House Elves had never been more chipper with the amount of chocolate-stained uniforms awaiting their eager, toiling hands.

Over chicken and ham pie, not one but _three_ Donoghan Tremletts—the swoon-worthy bass player for the Weird Sisters—had declared their undying love to various young girls in the Great Hall. It was only then that students suspected something strange was afoot.

Naturally, it fell upon the Head Girl and Head Boy to determine the cause of these goings-on. As the Headmaster put it, "I have the utmost confidence the two of you can put a stop to whatever mischief this is. So, get on with it, and _do_ let me know if it's just another megalomaniac uprising, will you?" Then, he popped a lemon-flavored lolly in his mouth and went on his merry way.

ooOOoo

In their shared living quarters, the two Heads conferred.

"Could it be some kind of curse?" asked the brunette as she jotted down notes. "Perhaps a latent Dark spell has been unleashed?"

The blond emitted an undignified snort. " _Really_ , Granger? You really think a hallway full of milk chocolate was brought on by _Dark magic_?"

Hermione Granger shrugged. "You'd think so, too, if you're lactose intolerant." She stepped back and planted a fist on her hip. "Anyway, you're hardly any help, Malfoy!"

Draco Malfoy leaned back on the edge of the counter and examined his perfect cuticles. "I'm working on a list of suspects."

She rolled her eyes. "Saying Harry and Ron's names over and over again won't make them guilty."

"If I think it, it will happen," he said with a flourish of his fingers. "It's called the law of attraction. Haven't you ever read _The Secret_?" He tutted. "Pick up a book once in a while, Granger, for Merlin's sake. You're _supposed_ to be a model student." Malfoy pushed off the counter of their shared kitchenette and sauntered through their cozy living area to the exit.

"And just where the hell are you going?"

He graced her with a brilliant smile—though the glint in his silver eyes did something to her insides. Indigestion, likely.

"I'm off to fulfill my duty, Granger. _One_ of us has to figure this out—and, as usual, the brunt of responsibility falls on _my_ manly shoulders."

With a huff, she marched to his side. Her parchment of notes was rolled in her hand. She swatted it at her fellow Head's irksomely broad shoulders. "Don't hurt yourself trying to be a martyr. _My_ shoulders are just as capable of handling burdens as yours."

"I'm sure they are," Malfoy teased. He reached into the space between them to wipe imperceptible dust off her shoulders; she whacked his hands away with an irritated _tsk_.

"Why don't I start interrogating the usual suspects,"—she straightened her robe—"while you slink off in the shadows, where you're most comfortable, to look for clues?"

"All right," he replied. A lascivious grin tugged at the corner of his lips. "You go have a chat with your best friends, and _I'll_ figure out what's going on." He stepped through the threshold, leaving her suspended between outrage and indignation. At least, that was the most logical reason for the sudden heat in her cheeks. She poked her head out as he progressed down the hall. As Malfoy disappeared around the corner, he called over his shoulder, "I'll come by your room before supper. I'm _sure_ I'll solve the mystery by then!"

She stomped down the hall in the opposite direction, biting back an aggravated growl.

ooOOoo

"What do you _know_ , Harry Potter?" Hermione squinted at her best friend.

Harry's eyes were bright and rounded underneath his glossy spectacles. "Know about what?" he asked sweetly. His lips lifted into a serene smile.

It was all bollocks, of course—one didn't spend nearly seven years being Harry's best friend without knowing when to call bullshit. Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed. Gods, she could only imagine Malfoy's triumphant smirk when he found that Harry was involved in this nonsense after all. "All right, out with it!" she snapped. "What's with all the weird happenings around the castle?"

Harry shrugged one shoulder.

She stepped up until only a millimeter separated the tips of their noses. "Listen here, Harry." Her voice dropped to a frigid level. "You're going to tell me what the hell is going on, or else."

He gulped and blinked at her with trepidation. "Or else, what?" he whispered.

The tail of her eyebrow twitched.

Harry divulged his secret without further resistance.

After he spilled his guts, Hermione trudged back to her room. It was nearly suppertime—Malfoy would be arriving at her bedroom door soon. She needed as much time to thicken her skin if she was to withstand his triumphant gloating.

She was in her room for a quarter hour when there was a rapping at her door. She opened it and found a smirking Malfoy just beyond the threshold.

"Granger." His voice caressed her name. "I've been looking for you."

ooOOoo

Draco followed the bespectacled git, sliding into the Room of Requirement before the door slammed shut. He noted that he simply _must_ congratulate Rhonda Byrne on her self-help book—projecting thoughts into the universe truly _did_ produce spectacular results.

Steam billowed from six large cauldrons, filling the long room with a cotton haze. Rows of small glass vials filled a rectangular table. Some vials laid empty; others were filled with a pearly violet potion. Standing over them were two knuckleheads whose voices were raised in argument.

Draco scoffed. "I _knew_ it!" He pointed his wand at the Boy Wonder and his Sidekick Extraordinaire. "What the hell are you two doing?"

Potter and Weasley snapped to attention. Potter groaned into his hands while Weasley sneered, "Merlin, not you, too!"

Potter nudged his friend in the rib. "Better him than Hermione," he mumbled. "That's what I'm saying, Ron! _She_ knows what we're doing, and it's only a matter of time before she comes in here! She says that if she finds our lab before we 'clean up our mess,' we better have a jar picked out to live out the rest of term."

"What's she going to do,"—Weasley's voice dropped—" _Transfigure_ us into beetles?" He and the Scarred Marvel shared worried glances.

"And just _what_ is going on here?" Draco asked, offended at being forgotten.

As they hurriedly packed up the vials and cauldrons, the Idiots explained. "Fred and George have been upping the prices on their Patented Daydream Charms, you see. So, we thought we'd make our own versions!" Potter glanced at him sheepishly. "We _may_ have added a bit too much Wormwood in the last batch. The fumes caused random fantasies to come to life all over the castle."

Draco sniffed the air—and recoiled. "Bloody hell, with the amount of Wormwood you put in, it's amazing the Forbidden Forest isn't high on your Daydream potion!" He huffed. "So, you say Granger knows what you're up to now?"

They nodded.

"Perfect! I can't wait to tell her, 'I told you so!'" He waved over to them. "Er, make sure to get rid of all this, will you?" His lips pulled up into a slow smirk. "I've got a Head Girl to visit."

ooOOoo

Draco pounded on the heavy wooden door. It creaked open; Granger peeked through the narrow crack with suspicion.

"Finally. Granger," he crooned, drawing out the first syllable of her name. Smug superiority colored his tone as he anticipated her reaction to his news. "Oh, I _do_ hope you won't be _terribly_ disappointed about this."

She rolled her eyes as she pulled the door open. "Well, I wouldn't say I was _disappointed_ —just taken by surprise. But hurry up this time, all right? I'm expecting someone to come by very soon."

Draco walked in and glanced around. The room was usually tidy whenever he passed by her open door and caught a glimpse. Not this evening, though.

His eyes flicked from the rumpled bedsheets to the Head Girl's disheveled curls. He pressed his lips together to keep a covetous snarl from escaping. After a moment, he managed to say, "I _apologize_. I'll keep my gloating brief so as to not keep you from your _company_."

Granger's eyes darted over his face; then to his shoulders, down his torso. Lingered over his pants—he shifted uneasily at her assessing gaze over _that_ region—all the way to his dragonhide loafers. When her eyes pulled up to his face once again, her cheeks were as red as her Gryffindor jumper.

" _Erm_ — _Malfoy_ —" She coughed. "No! I mean, you're not—I was just— _What are you doing here_?" Her fingers flew up to her cheeks.

"What do you mean?" Draco asked. "I told you I'd come here before supper to rub it in your face when I figured out what was going on—which I _did_ , by the way. I was totally right, it was,"—he threw his hands up in the air in bewilderment as he glanced at her cheeks—"I'm sorry, but why are you so _red_?"

Granger sputtered. She cleared her throat and opened her mouth—needlessly, it seemed, as the answer to Draco's question waltzed through the open doorway.

"All right, I'm back," the intruder said. His white shirt was unbuttoned down to his sternum, and the ends of his undone, green-striped tie hung over his shoulders like a stole.

Draco's jaw fell when he recognized the new arrival. Giddiness bubbled in his chest as he leered at the mortified brunette. " _Oh, Granger_ ," Draco admonished.

His doppelganger gazed at them haughtily. "What's this?" He folded his arms over his chest. "Granger, I know you can't get enough of me, but _really_ , I'm not one to _share_."

Granger crumpled to the floor with a horrified moan.

Draco burst out with laughter. "Oh, _gods_ ," he wheezed as he fought to control his diaphragm. "This—is just— _oh_ , you never fail to surprise me, Granger!" Draco strolled around his double. "Interesting. Is this really how you see me?" He evaluated Fantasy Draco's physique—shoulders a tad wider than his own above a toned torso with unblemished skin. Draco smirked. "You know, I have a scar right _here_." He traced his finger from his right collarbone to below his left nipple where the apex of his heart thudded against his chest.

Still curled up on the floor, Hermione glanced up. Her eyelids lifted in surprise and her lips parted infinitesimally.

" _Hey!_ " yelped Fantasy Draco. He pulled his shirt wider to reveal a newly-formed scar on his chest.

"That's _almost_ like it," Draco murmured. He pinned her down with a heated gaze. "You know, for accuracy's sake, you could evaluate the scar for yourself. I'm always supportive of my fellow students' endeavors in the pursuit of knowledge." He flashed her a grin in challenge.

It must have stirred her inner Gryffindor; after a deep breath, she straightened up and met his gaze unblinkingly.

"Granger," Fantasy Draco whined as his head swiveled between her and the real Draco. "Oh, come on!"

"Oh, sod off!" Granger said with a flap of her wrist.

Fantasy Draco flickered out of existence with an incensed huff.

Silence briefly followed his departure. Then, Draco closed the distance between them. "So,"—he began—"what would you like first? Gloating? Or,"—he brushed his knuckles over her cheekbone—"a lesson in anatomical correctness?"

Her cheeks glowed once again, but it was nothing compared to the heat in her gaze. "Dealer's choice," she whispered.

Draco chuckled. "All right." He dropped his hand, only to grasp both of hers. "Why don't we take care of this pesky Daydream Charm knock-off; I'd hate for any more of your Fantasy Dracos to interrupt us. Once we're done dealing with the Wonder Twins, we can come back here,"—he lowered his head so his lips grazed hers like a whisper—"and I can show you that the real thing is much better than any fantasy."

Granger's eyes flashed with mischief and desire. "You're on."

* * *

 **A/N:** Thanks for reading! I've been terrible at replying to reviews lately, but please know that I read all the reviews, and I appreciate them a lot!


	20. Holiday Cheer (Dramione)

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling.**

 **A/N: This little thing won the Dramione Fanfiction Forum's Drabble Challenge (November 2018). We had to include the following: Tinsel, Mistletoe, Fairy Lights, and "You're not putting that there, are you?"**

 **Pairing: Draco/Hermione**  
 **Genre: Romance/Comedy**  
 **Rated: T**

* * *

 **Holiday Cheer**

* * *

Hermione leaned back in her seat, unable to school her astonished expression. Draco Malfoy walked—not sauntered nor trudged, as he usually did—through the bullpen like a proper Auror. Five minutes before the workday officially started. With a friendly smile on his face, directed at others as he passed them on the way to his desk.

Some looked as flummoxed as she felt. Many others looked frightened.

As Draco sat across from her, his smile brightened. "Good morning," he greeted in a chipper tone.

Under her desk, Hermione gripped the end of her wand. He looked like Draco Malfoy, but it certainly wasn't the first time someone's Polyjuiced an official to get into the building. Then again, if someone truly was impersonating her partner, they would know to act like a surly bastard and not…whatever the hell this was.

Her head shook in disbelief. "Malfoy."

He was rearranging stacks of paperwork on his desk; he looked up at his name. "Yes?" Without breaking eye contact nor losing a Watt from his glowing smile, he plopped a small Christmas tree in the center where their desks met.

"You're not putting that there, are you?" The sudden presence of holiday cheer took her by such surprise that she physically recoiled from it.

"Looks like." He picked up a report from his desk and read.

"But,"—she threw up her arms, her wand and personal safety all but forgotten—"why?"

Draco glanced at her from under his lashes. "Because it's Christmas." He arched a dark blond brow. "Keep up, Granger."

"But," she sputtered, "you hate Christmas!"

"Hmm."

"You've always made fun of me for loving the holidays!"

"Hmm."

She leaned forward and pointed an accusing finger in his direction. "You once called the Grinch, 'that green chap who's got his priorities straight.'"

"Uh-huh."

Hermione lifted her palms up to the ceiling in supplication. "So why the bloody hell is there a Christmas tree on our desks?" She peeked through the tiny needle leaves, spying twinkling fairy lights. With the end of her wand, she moved the sparsely decorated branches to get a better view.

"What are you doing?" Draco asked.

"Just admiring your decorating skills," she murmured as she poked around inside the tree, "and not at all making sure that you didn't trap actual fairies in here, and that this is just your demented fairy prison." Hermione hummed. "You know, your tree is missing tinsel."

"That's because I'm trying to spread holiday cheer," he said matter-of-factly, "not bad taste."

"Well, seeing as half the tree is on _my_ desk, it's only proper that I get to decorate _my_ half." With a flicker of her wrist, tinsel floated down on the branches. A self-satisfied grin tugged on her lips. "Perfect."

Draco rolled his eyes and scoffed, his usual snark briefly resurfacing.

"So." Hermione folded her arms and assessed him. "What the hell, Malfoy? What, did you get visited by three meddlesome ghosts last night?"

"Not unless you count Uncle Brutus. And no one ever counts Uncle Brutus, which is why he can _never_ move on," he drawled as he rummaged through a side drawer.

"Huh." She planted her elbows on her desk. "Perhaps your Black genes are finally starting to kick in?" She traced small circles in the air next to her temple.

"Don't think so. Besides, the Black brand of crazy leans more towards the stab-stabby than generally loony as befits the holidays."

"Right," she muttered to herself. She cradled her chin against her palms, seriously analyzing the evidence at hand. "Well, if you're not being coerced, blackmailed, or otherwise forced into celebrating Christmas, then—"

As she wracked her brain for his possible nefarious motive, Draco straightened up and pulled a small, rectangular box from his desk. It was wrapped in red-and-gold foil and topped with a small card and an exquisite bow.

A sharp gasp escaped Hermione. "You're doing this all for a girl!" She jumped out of her seat and hurried to his side of their desks. "You're celebrating Christmas so you can get into some girl's pants, you sneaky trollop!"

She reached for the present, and he kept it out of her grasp. But he wasn't quite fast enough.

Hermione waved the small card in her hand as she sat on the edge of his desk. She unfolded the heavy cardstock, using her legs and feet to keep him from stealing her loot back. "Let's see who the unlucky gal is, shall we?" she sang. Her eyes danced across his neat penmanship. "Merry Christmas, Gra—" They froze as she finished with a whisper. "Granger? This—this is for me?"

Draco cleared his throat. Slowly, she lowered the card from her field of vision.

"Well, I wasn't going to do this in the middle of the bloody workday,"—a corner of his lips pulled up into a smirk—"but it looks like you forced my hand." He thrust the small package at her. "Go ahead and open it. It's only one of many presents I have for you, anyway."

Hermione hid the slight trembling of her fingers—at least, she hoped she did—as she unwrapped the present. Lifting the lid, she found a delicate mistletoe nestled in the black velvet. She took it out of the box, shooting him a questioning glance.

Draco's mask of confidence fell—so briefly that she questioned whether it truly happened.

A smile formed on her lips. "I know exactly what to do with this."

"Yeah?" He swallowed.

She leaned over—their faces so close that their breaths intermingled—and then, just as quickly, she straightened up.

Draco blinked, dazed. "Huh?" He looked over his shoulder and found the mistletoe fastened against the back of his seat. "Why?—"

"That way, whenever Harry comes around to give you a menial case, you can promptly invite him to kiss your arse." She winked conspiratorially.

Draco's face lit up like a thousand fairy lights. "Be still, my heart."

* * *

 **A/N: Thanks for reading!**


	21. Her Reflection (Other)

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter is owned by JK Rowling.**

 **A/N: This is a bit cheating, but seeing as it's still Hermione-centric to me, I placed it in this collection. Sorry it's so short!**

 **Pairing: Secret**

 **Rating: T**

 **Genre: Sadface**

ooOoo

There were times when she looked at a mirror and saw someone else. Herself; and yet not.

The same mess of golden brown curls that frizzed at a hint of moisture in the air.

The same almond-shaped eyes—sharp and observant, although without the faint lines.

Her not-self's face was leaner, however...more angular. Cheekbones that were sharp, like her husband's. Thinner lips, too—but a beautiful smile, that sweet upturn of her lips showcasing teeth that would make any dentist proud.

Oh, that smile. It did something to her.

Stole the air from her lungs.

Flooded her eyes with tears.

Wrung her heart until she was sure it was broken.

"What's wrong, love?" Her husband appeared at the doorway behind her, concern etched on his reflection.

She dabbed at her eyes, an embarrassed flush warming her cheeks. "Oh—it's nothing," she stammered. "Just makeup irritating my eyes."

The worried wrinkle between his eyebrows smoothed over, giving way to an easy smile. "For what it's worth," he said, circling his arms around her waist, leaning her back against his chest, "you don't need it. You're as beautiful now as you were twenty years ago."

His words landed heavily on her heart.

"Darling." She took a fortifying breath. "When you look at me, do you...what do you see?"

He stared at her curiously. "I see my wonderful,"—a nuzzle against her temple—"talented"—lips grazed against her earlobe—"beautiful wife." He pressed a tender kiss on her exposed shoulder. "Who is going to make us late for our dinner with the Smythes," he said, fixing the mirror with a look of mock severity.

She swatted him away playfully. "Oh, all right. Go on and start the car, you old coot! I'll be out shortly."

With a laugh and a sheepish, "Yes, dear,"—he left. Minutes later, the rumble of an engine reached her ears.

She placed the cap back on her lipstick. As she traced a finger along the outline of her bottom lip, she saw her again.

Herself; and yet not.

Lovely and painful to behold. Strange...and familiar. Like the ghost of a word at the tip of her tongue.

If only she could remember.

The squeak of the front door pulled her back to the present. "Monica, love!"

With a self-deprecating laugh, she shook her head at her reflection. She turned her back to the mirror, shutting the lights off as she hurried to Wendell. "Coming!"

ooOoo

 **A/N: Thanks for reading! Reviews are appreciated!**


	22. Something Old (Remione)

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling.**

 **A/N: Written for "We Wish You a Potter Christmas" Comp, hosted by Platform 9 3/4. It won** **Best Ending, Best Plot Twist, Best Mystery, and Overall Favourite.**

 **Pairing: Remus Lupin/Hermione Granger**

 **Rating: T**

 **Genre: Romance**

* * *

 **Something Old**

* * *

The first floor of the North Tower was empty—not unusual, as it was Christmas. It was exactly what Remus had been expecting as he slowly trudged through the corridor to get to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom.

He rolled his right shoulder back, easing his tendons and muscles. Last night was rough; it had not been that excruciating since his first few transformations.

Perhaps it was because his body had undergone its own changes in the past school year—normal ones, the ones to be expected for a boy of his age. He had grown over two inches in the last six months alone. The hem of his pants grazed his shins, where a small line of pale skin peeked over his socks.

When he reached the door to the DADA classroom, he leaned against the dark wood. He was aching to go back to bed. The dorm room would be blessedly quiet today without James, Sirius, and Peter making a ruckus. He closed his eyes and pictured the cool, white-and-crimson sheets of his four-poster bed, beckoning him to take a long nap.

With a heavy sigh, he shook his head. He had missed quite a few DADA lectures due to his condition—and there was no way he was falling behind, transformation or no. The Christmas holiday was a good time for him to catch up on lessons.

It was what he had been telling himself, anyway, for years.

Every year, tensions at home had been ratcheting. The resentment and regret in his parents' eyes grew the older he got. More and more, Hogwarts became his home.

Every year, the Potters had invited him over to spend Christmas. Remus had always refused; because, he thought, if even his own parents found him to be a burden…he didn't want anyone else to feel like they had to shoulder him as their responsibility.

He had spent the morning in the library reading through the section on vampire bats in their textbook, as well as trying to decipher James' vague, disjointed scribbles from lecture. As much as he appreciated the gesture, next time, Remus would ask Lily for her notes. Although the textbook was thorough enough, his friends told him that there was a vampire bat in a small cage in the classroom. With everyone out, it wouldn't hurt to take a quick peek at the creature.

Remus turned the curved handle, but when he tried to push it open, it jammed. He nudged it harder, shoving his other shoulder against the door until it burst open. He toppled inside, his momentum carrying into the nearest desk with a crash.

At the head of the classroom, standing behind the teacher's desk, was a girl. No—not a girl.

 _A woman_ , his fifteen-year-old brain corrected. He jumped up to his feet.

The soft autumn light filtered through the high windows behind her, turning her dark brown hair into rich caramel curls and making her skin glow. As she stared back him, her lips parted in surprise.

"Hel—hello," he croaked.

She blinked. "Hi."

"I was just—I came here to—" he stammered, unable to tear his gaze from this veritable angel. "And then, the door—and then I fell…" He grasped for words, which all seemed to have fled in terror at the sight of the pretty girl.

 _Woman_ , his brain reiterated.

Right.

"Are you—" He cleared his throat. "Are you lost?" Clearly, she was a visitor, though he hoped to Merlin that she wasn't a parent. She didn't look old enough to have a child attending Hogwarts.

They stood staring at each other in silence. Her eyes flickered down to his arm.

"You're bleeding," she admonished. She quickly stepped down the dais and hurried over to where he hunched over the fallen desk. She grabbed his arm and held it closer to her face, inspecting the laceration at his elbow. "The cut doesn't look too deep, but it's bleeding a lot," she murmured.

With her dainty finger, she traced the sensitive skin along the cut. Remus thought he was going to pass out from the sensation.

"Here," she said, reaching into the pocket of her dark robe and pulling out a cream handkerchief. She folded it into a long strip and bound it around his elbow. "You should really be more careful." As she stared at his arm, a bemused expression passed over her features. "That's going to scar." A small smile formed on her lips, as though she was smiling at a private joke.

He grimaced. "I'll just add it to the list, then," he muttered, his head hanging in embarrassment at the growing collection of marks on his body.

A finger hooked under his chin and nudged his head up. "You are not your scars," she said, her gaze gentle and full of warmth.

The intimacy of her words and actions enthralled him. Remus shook his head, clearing his head. "It's hard to look past them," he said, gesturing to the raised lines across his face. His lips quirked up in a wry smile when, somewhere inside him, he found the confidence to joke. "The ladies love them, though. They make me all edgy and cool."

"They do," she said with a kind smile. "What are you doing here? It's Christmas, isn't it?"

Remus shrugged. "I just…needed to catch up on schoolwork."

The corners of her eyes crinkled. "And my husband said _I_ was too obsessed with school," she murmured. "You don't want to go home." Not a question.

Slowly, he shook his head.

The woman stared at him, her eyes flitting over his face like she was reading him like a book. Then, she braced a hand on his shoulder. "I know what it's like, you know. To feel like…a burden. To feel like I'm too much for people to handle; that I shouldn't ask anyone to do so." Her brown eyes burrowed deep into his. "But then I found people who not only accepted me for who I am but loved me for the parts I thought were too difficult. I'm sure there are people out there who do the same for you."

Remus nodded, unable to tear his eyes away from her. "Yes. James and Sirius and Peter. My friends."

The woman angled her head down, looking at him through her thick, dark lashes. "Then, go to them. You don't have to be alone—not on Christmas. Not ever." She looked over his shoulder at the doorway, and then placed her left hand on his shoulder. "I have to go."

As she moved away, his gaze remained rooted at the spot on his shoulder where she had touched him.

The _click-click-click_ of her heels stopped when she reached the door. "Take care of yourself, Remus," she said. "And Happy Christmas."

He was still staring at his shoulder when he registered her words. He snapped his head towards the door. "How do you know my name?"

It was too late. Staring at the empty doorway, his hand went to the cloth at his elbow. His fingers grazed a raised texture, and he looked down.

The letters "HL" were monogrammed on the corner of the handkerchief.

ooOOoo

He chuckled to himself as he penned the note.

 _Hermione,_

 _In case you still need "Something Old."_

 _See you soon,_

 _Remus_

He placed the card on top of the folded cream handkerchief before closing the lid of the small, blue box. He turned around and handed the present to his groomsman.

"Will you please take this to Hermione?" Remus asked.

Harry nodded. "Of course." He looked at the box curiously as he took it in his hand. "What is it?"

The grin on Remus' face brightened. "Just returning something that belonged to her."

Harry quirked a curious brow. "Regifting?"

Remus laughed. "It probably won't make sense to her. Not yet. But one of these days, she'll know how much that," —he gestured to the box—"meant to me. How it saved me from loneliness. And how it started me on a path to self-acceptance."

"Must be some gift," Harry mused.

"It truly was."

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 **A/N: Thanks for reading! Reviews are appreciated!**


	23. Blue Phoenix (Tomione)

**Diclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling.**

 **A/N: This was the start for a Tomione Fest fic that was giving me trouble. I recently revisited the concept, and I think there might be potential here. Posting a snippet to see if there are any interests in this Victorian/Vigilante Tomione could-have-been.**

 **Pairing: Tom Riddle x Hermione Granger**

 **Rating: T**

 **Genre: Action/Adventure (Victorian AU/Vigilante AU)**

* * *

 **Blue Pheonix**

* * *

He's going to be the death of her.

Hermione knows this as she wipes the trickle of blood from her temple. Feels it in the ache of her bones and the weakness of her muscles.

The blasts quieted sometime between the moment her head cracked against the wall and when she regained consciousness. A minute; an eternity.

A pall of silence settles over the palace, save for the clack of footsteps on the tile. Slow and even—unhurried in its assured victory.

With a swallowed groan, she pushes off the floor. Her left arm protests under her weight, but she grits her teeth. Air drags into her lungs, burning in her chest, each breath stabbing daggers between her ribs.

She grasps the pain like a lifeline, letting it heave her to her unsteady feet.

He halts in front of her. Her gaze hauls up his towering form and meets his granite eyes.

"Wife." His tone strips her world of light and warmth.

"Tom," she croaks.

He raises his wand and levels it at her sternum. His hand is steady and unflinching.

Hermione uses the last of her strength to will steel into her spine, squaring her shoulders and jutting her chin up in defiance.

"It was you." His eyes flicker to the emblem on her chest—a Phoenix bathed in hues of blue, scratched and scarred from battle. "The warehouse fire. Dolohov's assassination." His dark eyes flatten. "The attempt on my life at our wedding. It was all you."

She lifts her chin higher. "Not just me. There are many of us fighting against you—"

" _Were_ , my dear," Tom croons. "There _were_ many of you."

Hermione opens her mouth to protest; to call him a liar. But the silence presses on her. The air is empty of hexes and curses. The walls and floors have stopped trembling from their impact. It's as if the palace slumbered now.

A mockery of peace.

She shakes her head slowly. "Lord William—"

"Is dead." His lips twitch into a sneer. "So are his brothers."

Fear drops to the pit of her stomach. "Ronald?"

Tom takes a deliberate step forward. The point of his wand digs between her breasts. "Especially _Ronald_ ," he spits. "The others died quickly, but Ronald Weasley—I made sure his death was excruciating."

Hermione sucks in a breath; holds it until tears stopped threatening to fall.

One best friend gone.

And all the more reason for her to stand her ground—to protect the other one at all cost.

* * *

 **A/N: Let me know what you think! I'll be taking a break from short fest pieces to focus on long fics, and I'm having trouble deciding which one to do first.**

 **If you like this (or really, any other stories you've read of mine that you think merits an expansion) make sure to let me know in a review...it will light a fire under my butt to get the story going lol.**

 **Cheers x**


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